
v %, 




















. ■ 
O 










POEMS 



BY jf N. M'JILTON. 



•• 






c 

BOSTON: 

OTIS BROADERS St CO. 

NEW YORK WTLEY AND TITNAM } l'HlLADELHIlA HENRY RSKIHI 

BALTIMORE CISHING AND BROTHER. 

1840. 



.Mi? 



WOODS AND CRANE, PRINTERS, EALT. 



TO 

MY EARLY AND ESTEEMED FRIEND, 

DAVID CREAMER, 

WITH WHOM I HAVE BEEN INTIMATELY 
ASSOCIATED IN LITERARY PURSUITS, 

THIS VOLUME 



IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



PREFACE. 



The poems here recorded, have been the pro- 
duction of a few leisure hours, snatched at inter- 
vals from a life of hurry and concern ; and they 
are collected, less in the hope of gaining even a 
poet's immortality, than with the view of obliging 
several friends, who, for some time have insisted 
on their publication. In fact, had it not been for 
the threat of one, for whom the author entertains a 
high regard, that he would publish upon his own 
responsibility such of his pieces as he could collect, 
it is highly probable that the public would have 
been spared the infliction of the present volume 
and the author the disasters that await the scrib- 
bler, who in the season of storm, dares venture his 
bark upon the troubled waves of a literary sea. 
1* 



VI PREFACE. 

While engaged in writing the poems, no thought 
of future fame obtruded to mar the pleasures of 
composition, which have been adequate to the labor 
expended in their production. They are the off- 
springs of the heart ; their errors those of an inof- 
fensive muse, which however, is as independent as 
unpretending, and presents its efforts alike to "cor- 
morant and commoner," expecting each without 
"favor or affection" to dispose of them according 
to his pleasure. 



CONTENTS 



pa<;e. 



Tricmpii of Liberty,— pronounced before the Associated 
Literary and Scientific Societies of Baltimore— at 
their anniversary, celebrated on the Fourth of July, 



1838, 



13 



The Sires of Seventy-Six, .... 44 

Gcenever,— in two parts— a ballad in the style of the old 
English writers. Part I. ... 45 

Part II. . • M 

My First New Hat, 66 

The American Eagle, • 69 

Tomb of Bozzaris, . . • • • ' * 

Retrospection, . . • • • .78 

Beech Hill 84 

Yo Heave ! ...-•• 8 7 

The Maiden's Test, ... 90 

My Absent Sister, . . • • .93 

The Night of Death, 97 

God Walks in Judgment, . .98 

Time, .... • m 

The Past, the Present, and the Future, . • 104 

Brutus, 106 

Love's Appeal, . . • .107 



V1U 



CONTENTS. 




The Mount of Faith, 


109 


Niagara, ..... 


. 112 


The Stars. 


116 


Joy, ...... 


. 118 


Spring, ..... 


119 


To a Musquito, .... 


• 120 


The Aching Tooth, .... 


123 


Death may wreathe the 'Cup to-morrow, 


• 126 


A Name, ..... 


128 


Love, ...... 


. 130 


To a Playful Boy, .... 


131 


The Harper's Dying Strains, • 


• 133 


Stanzas, ..... 


136 


The Sword of Washington, 


. 137 


Toast, ...... 


139 


Childhood's Hopes, • 


• 140 


The Land we Love, 


141 


The Amazon, ..... 


. 142 


Lelia go not to the Ball to-night, 


143 


May Flowers, . 


. 145 


Song of the Fairies, 


147 


The Estranged, ..... 


. 148 


My Father made them all, 


149 


A Thought, ..... 


■ 151 


Life — A Garden, .... 


152 


The Grave, ..... 


. 153 


To an Album, • • . . 


154 


The Blight, ..... 


• 156 


Flag of Texas, .... 


157 


Thou Speakest Still, .... 


• 158 


Queries, ..... 


160 


Soitow, ...... 


. 162 


Festival of the Tombs, 


163 


Yon Starry Worlds, .... 


. 167 



CONTENTS. 



IX 



The Fall, ..... 


168 


The Old Elm, . 


• 169 


Midnight, ..... 


173 


Millenial, .... 


• 174 


Confidence, . 


176 


Childish Speculations, . 


• 179 


Then sing the Song I love, 


181 


The Deep— Deep Snow, 


. 182 


Christmas Morning, 


184 


Death of Murat, . 


. 186 


Kings Pass Away, .... 


190 


Song of the Sailor, . . . . 


. 191 


Away and leave the Brimming Bowl, 


193 


She's Dead, . 


• 194 


Change, . 


195 


Lelia's Choice, . 


. 197 


To the Unknown .... 


198 


Who shall be First, . . . . 


. 199 


Our Hope, ..... 


201 


Rest thee, Sleeper. • 


■ 202 


I will not Murmur, 


203 


Fall of the Indian Warrior, 


. 207 


To my Sister Jane, . 


209 


The Student's Burial, . 


. 212 


Summer Eve, . . • . 


216 


Human Glory, ... 


. 217 


To Weep, ..... 


'222 


Home, ...... 


. 223 


The Battle Monument, 


224 


Death and the Warrior, 


. 22S 


The Drunkard's Toast, 


231 


We pass Away, .... 


. 233 


Death was at the Feast, .... 


234 


The Dead Child, 


. 236 



CONTENTS. 

Sad when Alone, .... -240 

The Dead, ...-...• 241 

Unbelief, • 242 

Dust, .......... 244 

Bear out the Dead, ...-.- 245 

The weary Crusader, 248 

To the Potomac, •••.... 249 

The Ploughboy, ........ 250 

To Alexzena, •••....• 253 

To Charlotte— The Past, 254 

A Sad Hour, ....... 256 

Procrastination, 257 

Thy Love, . 260 

The Sea Boy's Love, ...... 262 

To the Patapsco ......... 263 

Musings in Mount Auburn, . 265 

She Faded, 270 

Southern Flowers, 271 

The Rose that never Fades, .... 273 

The Sister's Appeal, ....... 275 

I'll think of Thee, 277 

A Mother's Love, • 278 

Thou art Away, ....... 280 

To Elvira, . 282 

Time's Impress, . 284 

Southern Lasses, •••.«.• 286 

Ellen's Rose, ........ 288 

Death of the Christian Soldier, .... 291 

My Soul is Sad, ..... 293 

Revelation, 296 

Life, . 297 

O give me back my Hope, ..... 299 

The Pilgrim's Rest, ...... 300 

Scepticism, 303 



CONTENTS. XI 

First Sabbath of the New Born Year, . . 306 

Memories, 309 

Night Scene, ........ 314 

I have no Father there, ...... 317 

God, 318 

Lov'stThou Me, ....... 319 

Nature's Gratitude 323 

Helen, ... 325 

The Battle, • 326 

The Doom of Youth, ...... 327 

Death of Pike, . 328 

Revenge, 329 

The Heart's Changes, 330 

Think of Me, 331 

The Winter of the Tomb, 332 

The Spring beyond the Tomb, .... 333 

Serenade, 334 

The Sea Bird, . • -336 

Years Pass, 337 

The Minstrel's last Dirge, . . . .338 

Just Seventeen, 342 

The Joy of Age, ■ 343 

Infant Memories, 344 

Crush not the Worm, 346 

The Sea, 348 

To Muse at Night, 350 

Devotion, . . . . . . . 351 

Emma, 353 

The Sea of Sorrow, 356 

Girlhood, 358 

Silent we Gazed, 359 



POEMS 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

How many centuries yon glorious sun. 
His annual circuit through the skies has run, 
Since Tyranny his ebon flag unfurled, 
And waved it proudly o'er a prostrate world ( 
How many rivers of life's crimson rain. 
Have warmly gushed from bosoms of the slain, 
And stained the dismal standard as it bore, 
Its gloomy folds the kneeling nations o'er I 

When first beside the sparkling Euphrates, 
Where flowers their perfume shed upon the breeze, 
Man rose in strength matured — creation's lord. 
Earth's thousands bowed obedient to his word ; 
The nations of the sea, the flocks of heaven. 
And tribes of earth into his hands were given: 
Sole sovereign o'er them all he nobly reigned, 
In virtue of the right from God obtained. 
He stood in nature's primal freedom then. 
To represent a distant race of men, 
All equal with himself; he wore no crown, 
No regal emblem spoke of his renown — 
No costly gems he bore, embossed in gold — 
No badge of servitude, of slavery told ; 



14 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

He stood the prince of nature — free as wind, 
True representative of man and mind. 
His progeny increased, and soon the thirst 
Of pride, begat desire of being first 
Ic power and preferment, thence arose 
The "Rule despotic," with its train of woes. 
Thus early in the history of man, 
The reign of Terror, its career began, 
And o'er the wilderness in wrath it strode — 
Its earliest effort bore the stain of blood. 

On Shinar's plain, Ambition left his tent, 
To build his way to heav'n, — the toil was spent 
Of countless thousands in the vain essay, 
The pomp of human power to display, 
When from his throne, the Everlasting saw, 
And thundered his severe, but righteous law. 
Mysterious changes o'er the senses came, 
Men stood aghast and blushed in deepest shame. 
Confusion sat upon each clam'rous tongue, 
With jargon wild the sinning Babel rung; 
The laborers confounded, shook with dread, 
Gave up their hopes and from each other fled. 
And frightened refugees fatigued and sore, 
Left home and kindred to return no more. 

A band of wanderers after months of toil, 
Found an asylum on Assyria's soil ; 
Though few and feeble at the first they were. 
The means of life their constant— -only care ; 



T K I I' M P H OF LIBKRTV. 1 8 

Vet when into importance they had grown, 
They founded empire and built up a throne. 
Nineveh and Babylon in strength uprose, 
And princes preyed upon the people's woes; 
Kings wore the honors by their subjects gained — 
Their subjects wept o'er titles they sustained, 
'Till discontent into excitement grew. 
And prince and people in disorder threw ; 
Faction displayed her desolating arm — 
Aroused the passions to their fiercest storm ; 
Of boasted victory, was blood the price, 
And freely flowed in horrid sacrifice ; 
On history's page it poured the hideous stain, 
Till even Babylon mourned her mightiest slain. 

Adorned with jewels when the world was young, 
Egyptia, on the Nile's rich valley sprung; — 
The famous Nile, whose waves of silver came. 
From some far forest, still unknown to fame, 
To bear vast treasures on their crests of snow, 
To distant seas, as onward they should flow 
Through groves of fadeless beauty, broad and fair 
And plains of ever during verdure, where 
The fertile soil gave forth spontaneous flowers, 
And crown'd the em'rald shore with clustering bowers. 
The narrow vale, then glowing in its pride, 
Another Eden by the river's side, 
In all its native excellence arrayed, — 
Woo'd the worn trav'ler to its peaceful shade: 
Beneath the rich and ripening fruits he knelt 
On the delightful sward, and much he felt 



16 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

Of nature's rapture in that silent hour, 

When none was near him to dispute the pow'r 

He claimed o'er field and forest — all were his, — 

He gazed in fancy from the mount of bliss 

On years of pleasure that invited him, 

Their endless ocean of delight to swim. 

Friends gathered near the pleasures to divide ; 
They roamed the valley — climbed the mountain side, 
And like the zephyrs that around them played, 
Free o'er the flowers in their joy they strayed. 
As years wore on, improvement's tread was seen, 
Art sprung upon the plains and valleys green ; 
Like magic, palaces were seen to rise, 
And temples laved their summits in the skies ; 
While workmen from the mountain's towering crown 
Rich marble quarried and conveyed it down. 
Upon the river's banks and by the wood, 
Cities assumed the place of solitude ; 
Propitious Fortune from her throne on high, 
Watched o'er their labors with an anxious eye — 
Induced them onward by her fond caress, 
And stamped their noblest efforts with success. 
When o'er the hills man's industry had moved, 
Moulding the wilds of nature, which he loved, 
To suit his pleasure, he displayed his skill, 
And showed the symptoms of usurping will. 
Distinction came — the despot hailed its dawn, 
And by his hand the hated line was drawn 
That marked the prince's and the subject's place, 
Gave some to honor — others to disgrace. 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 17 

The shepherd left his flocks upon the plain, 
Seized on the sceptre and commenced his reign ; 
His place among the mountains he resigned, 
The will of thousands, by his own, to bind. 
With gentle guile his cautious course began — 
The king was scarcely known above the man : 
His people and himself in interest one, 
They hardly knew that he possessed a throne ; 
Close friendship he affected — then with i 
Withdrew their liberties by slow degrees. 
Triumph was his — the mask was laid aside. 
The people's pleasure and their will defied ; 
He held the rod, — his honors to display, 
And ruled the nation with tyrannic sway. 
Usurping Pharaohs in rich splendor sate, 
All glitt'ring in their princely robes of state ; 
A favored race of proud empurpled knaves, 
Soon held dominion o'er unmanly slaves. 
Darkness hath, like a shadow o'er the sun, 
Its path of ages, over Egypt run ; 
Her star of greatness has gone down in gloom 
Artists and warriors share oblivion's doom: 
The light has faded from her jewelled brow, 
Temples nor pyramids have builders now. 

Fair Greece arose, — a burning diadem 
Upon the brow of earth, — each island gem. 
That floated in her circlet, seemed a star. 
That threw its lustre on the seas afar. 



18 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

Adventurers admired the beauteous land, 

And crowned their prows upon the sparkling strand ; 

On Sicyon's plain, and Argos' glittering vale, 

Phoenicean hands inscribed fame's early tale ; 

The fearless strangers left their flowery coves, 

To seek new homes among the verdant groves 

That hung in silence on the sunlit shore, 

Or bowed in majesty the breeze before. 

The deathless history that tells of these, 

Tells of Inachus and Egialtes, 

Cecrops and Theseus, and of thousands more, 

Whose deeds shed lustre on the names they bore. 

Athens leapt forth,' — child of the sun and sea, 

And Argonaut and bold Heraclidss, 

Of daring schemes and mighty ruin told, 

Ere Greece in enterprise or years was old : 

And Cadmus, like a morn of hallowed light, 

Dawned o'er the gloom and shade of mental night. 

The spark he struck on Thebes in splendor grew, 

And round his name immortal honors threw. 

That spark ethereal, over Grecia spread — 

Her march of letters and of greatness led, 

And heralded the morning of renown, 

Which on her hills from heav'n was looking down; — 

It came, the shadows of barbarian night, 

To hide forever in its orlorious light, 

And show the workings of immortal mind, 

Which circumstance may rule, but never bind ; 

Others, like Cadmus, had as brilliant shone, 

Who lived neglected, and who died unknown, — 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 19 

But for the sad reverses that await — 
The certain ministers of uncertain fate, 
About the path of the aspiring soul, 
And seek its towering efforts to control. 
And men of every age the dupes have been 
Of fickle Fortune, while her hand unseen, 
Hath led them through the labyrinthine maze, 
Up to her temple, and held out the bays, 
As if she meant to crown them for their might, 
But held them till they withered in their sight. 
The throngs that worship at Ambition's shrine, 
And for the favors of her friendship pine, 
Ere from her lips, a single smile they gain, 
Are doomed of disappointment to complain. 
Many have labored both in truth and guile, 
The good have been successful, — so the vile; 
And trait'rous heads high honors have arrayed, 
While noble souls have slumbered in the shade. 
Princes have fallen from their place of pride, 
And humbler spirits have been dignified 
With all the titles that the great have worn — 
With wreaths of fame from aching temples torn : 
Bui he that for a cot exchanged his throne. 
Was happier far, than he that gained the crown. 

Mind hath no titles — greatness is her dower, 
And hers the claim of universal power. 
She nourished Greece in her maternal arms, 
And won her confidence with nameless charms — 



20 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

She humbled kings — the peasant's might displayed, — 

She lifted talent to its place, and made 

Accessible to all, the path of fame, 

Till kings of Greece, were only kings in name. 

Codrus his sceptre with his life resigned, 

Athens his titles in his tomb confined ; 

The name of king she banished from the state, 

And in his place the humbler Archon sate, — 

Not Archon by especial grace from heav'n, 

But by free suffrage from the people giv'n — 

The people ! — from whose midst the wise were those 

Who high in honor as in purpose rose — 

Lycurgus like, who joined the public cause, 

And gave his life to give the nation laws ; — 

Or like stern Draco whose decrees of blood, 

Essayed to turn aside the foaming flood 

Of vice, that threatened in its maddened rush, 

The hopes of virtue and of peace to crush ; — 

Or Solon, with his precepts firm, yet mild, 

That might have left grey hairs, in guilt a child. 

Such were the sons of Greece, and such their claim 

To lofty places on the scroll of Fame; — 

Of different views and yet of equal zeal, 

Their only efforts for the public weal. 

To boasted eminence proud Greece went up, 

By Fortune favored, until full her cup 

Of glorious triumph, both in arms and arts, 

Sustained by thousands of the boldest hearts 

That throbbed for freedom in the early time, 

When kings were sometimes fortunate in crime. 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 21 

Stern hearts of freemen, full of patriot fire, 

Burning alike in son and hoary sire, 

The noble bulwark formed, that shielded Greece, 

And gave prosperity in war and peace. 

At Marathon, the haughty Persian tried — 

And Salamis — to humble Grecian pride, 

And break that bulwark dow r n ; as well the waves 

They might have chained, as of the Greeks made 

slaves. 
The daring spirit of Themistocles, 
Equalled in valor of Miltiades, 
And countless numbers of the sons of Fame, 
Humbler in fortune, but in soul the same, 
Not all the thunderbolts of war could move, 
Nor fright them from their home of hope and love. 

Alas for Greece, that e'er domestic feuds, 
In hostile form arrayed her multitudes ! 
That ever faction and unholy lust, 
Trampled her well-earned laurels in the dust. 
The same Ambition that enthroned the king, 
Rendered proud Greece, a poor forsaken thing : 
Spoiled of her conquests and of greatness shorn, 
By inward strifes and outward quarrels torn, 
She seemed, while splendid ruin were her doom, 
And blighted glory, beautiful in gloom, 
Like vultures for the feast, Rome's cohorts came. 
And matchless Greece was only Greece in name. 
Fall'n was the land of j^reat Thucvdides, 
But glorious in her fall, — she still was Greece. 



22 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

In dust was princely Greece, the Roman heel 
Was on her jewelled neck — the gloomy seal 
Of utter subjugation ; — at her fall 
Rome snatched the light-encircled coronal 
From her yet lovely brow — where it had shone 
For centuries, and placed it on her own. 
Not long in native pride it flourished there, 
For it had borne the flowers of Freedom fair, 
That grew when Greece was free, for Greeks to prize 
But might not bloom beneath despotic skies. 
Rome spread her arms abroad, — from sea to sea, 
She robbed the nations of their liberty — 
And wore the laurels other states had won, 
But soon the race of glory she had run ; 
She reared her throne to overlook the world, 
And from that throne to darkness soon was hurled. 
And where is Rome, and where her conquests now ? 
Honors that were oppressive to her brow, 
Wrought her destruction, and she sleeps in dust ; 
And o'er her mighty dead oblivion's rust 
Relentless Time had scattered, — had they not 
Been linked with deeds that could not be forgot. 
And Time, in his resistless march hath strode- 
O'er Rome's proud Caesars and their robes of blood. 
Rome ravaged Greece and revelled in her gloom, 
The world hath wept for Greece ; but who for Rome? 

Unnumbered kingdoms in the times of yore, 
Fluttered a brief hour and were seen no more ; 
They passed away — the kingdom, king and crown, 
Like stars they rose, and like the stars went down. 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 2'3 

And few may tell of Lydia's wealth and pride. 
And of her kings, who reigned awhile and died 
Like other kings, — perchance like other men. 
Wept for a time, — to be forgotten then. 

And Lydia's sister kingdoms ; where are they ? 
The galaxy that glittered once so gay ! 
What pen of steel their princely deeds may write. 
To call them from their sleep of endless night ! 
What tongue of fire may the proud doings tell. 
Of states that flourished for a time and fell I — 
Of Media, — from Assyria's arms released, 
That rose in power and in might increased, 
Cyrus the Great, her proudest, noblest son, 
Laid other kingdoms which his valor won, 
As brilliant trophies at her princely feet ; — 
He made the Caspian's wealth with India's meet 
To do her homage ; and the Persian's toil 
Gave willing tribute for his fertile soil. 

Of Sicily, — that looked up from the wave. 
As thouffh she meant her em'rald brow to lave 
Jn the pure sunlight ; — 'twas on her fair breast. 
The great Archimedes in death found It 
Which life denied him long, — Marcellus' sword. 
Thrust by the soldier at the tyrant's word, 
Sent the philosopher from study deep. 
To join his comrades in their last, lone sleep. 
Despots in madness and relentless hate. 
Ravaged the land and left it desolate — 



24 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

The brightness of philosophy obscured, 
Revenging wrongs they never had endured. — 

Of honors green that blooming Syria wore, 
The palm of praise the Syro-median bore — 
Of Parthia and the cunning Parthian's skill, 
Whose rage, awhile, not even Rome could still, 
And of his fall at last — his utter fall 
And loss of fame — of country — name — of all. — 

Of many a kingdom unto Fame scarce known, 
Whose petty tyrant from his little throne 
Announced his will, and if it were the thrall 
Of prince — philosopher, or stately hall, — 
The minions of his pow'r, — a pliant band, 
Hasted to execute his high command. — 
The very shadow of imperial might, 
Hath buried in the dust, all human right ; 
And since the stars first sang creation's birth, 
Tyrants have made a slaughter-house of earth. 



Thus mused the Genius fair of Liberty, 
As on a rock she stood, washed by the sea, 
Anear a little port to fame unknown, 
That gave its tribute to the Spanish throne. 
The winds that wafted o'er the Paloese, 
Filled the white canvass on the bounding seas ; 
The rushing waters and the gentle roar 
Of the light waves that played upon the shore, 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

Aroused the Genius from her dreams of pain. 
And in her bosom, hope revived again. 

On a broad pier, in crowds, the people stood, 
And banners gaily on the breezes flowed : 
A thousand voices o'er the silence broke — 
A thousand echoes o'er the glad hills woke. 
And met in music on the rock-bound shore. 
That shook in concert with the welcome roar ; 
The Genius started as she turned her eye, 
For gallant barques were floating proudly by ; 
She saw the streamer and the stiffened sail. 
Sweeping in majesty before the gale, — 
'Twas mind that struggled for a victory more. 
And sought new worlds upon an unknown shore ; 
Pleased at the prospect, from the rock she leapt, 
Her flowing robes, around her light form swept : 
She left the gazers on the crowded strand. 
To guard Columbus and his daring band 
Over the dreary and untravelled wave. 
In search of glory, or a glorious grave. 
Spreading her pinions, o'er the gallant er 
She dropped a tear and bade Old Spain adieu. 

Success becomes the province of the man. 
Whose skill may execute what mind may plan — 
Whose lofty courage in the cause he loves. 
No threatening terror daunts — no peril moves. 
Genoa's son, the noblest of his line. 
Whose name in Science will for ever shine, — 
3 



26 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

Saw the bright path, Philosophy illumed. 
And sought the pow'r that princes had assumed 
To tread its starry heights, — the toil of years. 
Deceit of kings, and the insulting sneers 
Of envious ignorance, he calmly bore, 
Till opposition he had triumphed o'er, 
And gain'd permission to adventure life — 
To dare the ocean's and the tempest's strife.. 
And envy's dark and despicable frown, 
To fix a jewel in a monarch's crown. 
Their country's flag th' adventurers unfurled, 
In triumph o'er the new discovered world ; 
For Spain's proud monarch in the name of God. 
They claimed possession of the flowery sod. 
Columbus cried, exultingly, "We've found 
A world of forests by the ocean bound, 
A land of beauty and embowering vines — 
Of oaks majestic and of towering pines — 
Of verdant valleys and their rivers clear. 
Princes might revel in rich splendors here." 

"Not princes," cried the Genius, who each word. 
The great Explorer spoke, distinctly heard, 
"Not princes e'er shall mar this lovely zone, 
This land shall ne'er behold a despot's throne. 
Her hills and valleys chainless as yon sea 
Shall give their treasures to the brave and free." 

For many years o'er varying vale and wood, 
The Genius wandered in her solitude ; 



I HUMPH OF LIBERTY. 87 

The fleets of nations she had witnessed oft, 
With glowing canvass and their flags aloft, 
Crowded with mariners — the stout — the brave. 
Moving all proudly o'er the ocean wave. 
The hirelings of princes, they came to fight. 
And plunder princes of inferior might, 
Who boasting honors of a royal name, 

ssion held by precedence of claim : 
War's deaf ning thunders o'er the billows swept, 
And echoes wild, from rugged mountains leapt ; 
The widespread forest quivered 'mid the din, — 
The soil, its floods of human gore drank in : — 
Tin.' opening flow r ers received the purple stain. 
Vnd mount and valley hid the thousands slain. 
The Genius wept; — the land she would have crown 'd 
With Freedom's chaplet, was the battle ground. 
Where bauds of friendship and the brother's steel, 
Were raised against the friendly heart and heel : 
And kings contended by the "Grace of God" 
To rule their subjects with an iron rod. 

Again upon the sea she spread her wings, — 
\u r ain in grief, she sought the home of kings : 
O'er Albion's snowy dill's, her way she sped, 
To hold communion with the princely dead, 
in an old Abbey's venerated aisle. 
The dead on either hand, she mused awhile. 
Ala* tor man ! alas for Godlike mind, 
That e'er a despot rose among his kind. — 
That e'er a lawless and unrighteous thing, 
Transcended law. and called himself a king. 



28 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

God made men free, — free as the bounding waves, 
Faction oppressed them first — then made them slaves, 
At feudal pride, the fief indignant felt, 
And murmured much, but at its nod he knelt, 
And kissed the foot of the usurping lord, 
Whose might was right, and whose all powerful word 
Was law supreme, — e'en to the very death, 
He claimed the right to measure human breath — 
Aye — claimed authority to say how free, 
Immortal mind, that God had made, should be. 
What is the king, and what the crown he wore ? 
The golden sceptre that in pride he bore ? 
When like his poorest subject he is left, 
To blanch in death, of all his pride bereft l 
Here it were wise, the monarch in his crown, 
Should stand, and on his ancestry look down; 
The curtained heads that friendly hands have laid, 
Slumber as harmless as the solemn shade 
That sheds its deep and soul-subduing gloom 
Above the deeper darkness of the tomb. 
No despot loves to look into the dust, 
To view the worm, — the canker and the rust, 
Which soon may cluster 'round the jewelled brow- 
So rich in beauty and in honor now. 
Here he may read the haughty prince's doom, — 
This pathway of the dead — the death-like gloom, 
That hangs in desolation o'er the place, 
Where mouldering sleep a proud imperial race, 
Should teach the sceptred rulers of the State, 
That death and dust must be their humbling fate. 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. '-i9 

And some there are, so quietly that sleep, 
In death's eternal midnight, still and deep. 
When they assumed the sceptre and the pow'r, 
Fair Liberty had thought the morning hour 
Of her success, had dawned upon the sky. 
Attracting nations to its light on high ; 
But soon their haughty and imperious sway, 
Exceeded all before, that passed away, 
And what on coronation day they swore 
Was little thought, and never heard of more. 
Freedom for years had sought a lowly spot 
To plant her standard; but she found it not — 
For the vast globe could show no spot of ground 
But where the tyrant's foot-prints might be found. 
Her cause was dark, but 'twas not yet despair, 
Tyrants she knew could never chain the air. 



The winds are still, — adown the purple west, 
The evening sun is sinking to his rest ; 
Voices are on the breeze, glad songs arise 
J 11 holy anthems to the list'ning skies. 
What forms are these, that cluster in the grove, 
And greet each other with the grasp of love: 
They meet for worship and the greenwoods ring 
With the sweet notes of gratitude they sin". 
Now strains of measured sadness soft ami low, 
In plaintive music on the breezes flow: 
And now upon the dewy sward they kneel. 
Their flowing tears may tell how deep they feel ; 
3* 



30 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

Stern silence throws its awe around them there, 

And humble hearts breathe forth the lowly prayer. 

Poor hunted fugitives, the pilgrim few, 

By kings insulted, to the shade withdrew, 

To tell their woes, and worship God once more, 

Ere they departed for a distant shore, 

Where they might bow beneath a favoring sky, 

And pay their homage unto God most high. 

The Genius saw the weeping pilgrims bow, 
She heard their song of praise and solemn vow ; 
And knew if Freedom's temple they might rear, 
Upon a faith so fervent — so sincere, — 
Protected by the Great Eternal's arm 
No earthly power could ever do it harm. 
In prospect high, she saw that temple rise, 
Until its lofty summit touched the skies ; 
Her matchless throne upon the radiant height, 
She saw enwrapped in heaven's own glorious light. 



The pilgrims soon a common fortune shared, 

Together Ocean's dangers nobly dared ; 

The light barque sped across the billows' crest, 

And reached their port in the uncultured west. 

Virginia's winding streams and Plymouth's rock, 

Tell how in bands that little, fearless flock — 

In Freedom's hallowed enterprise the van — 

A mighty nation's history began. 

In the dread name of Freedom's God they swore, 

The tyrant's fetters they would wear no more ; 



TBI M PB OF LIBERTY. 31 

As with a single voice the word was passed — 
The ocean heard — valley and mountain vast, 
Jn the ripe spring's reviving greenness crowned, 
With eager joy, joined in the glad'ning sound. 
Till every foot of land from sea to sea, 
The pledge responded of the nobly free. 

On Plymouth rock — where Freedom's waves had 

rolled 
In majesty for ages — uncontrolled, — 
In calm. — as lovely as the azure steep, 
That mirrored in its bosom vast and deep : 
In storm, — tremendous — awfully sublime — 
Sweeping in terror with the upper clime, 
Harmonious 'mid the elemental fight 
As in the peaee of nature clear and bright — 
( >n Plymouth rock, Ocean's rich coronet. 
The Genius Liberty rejoicing met 
Her sister of Columbia — saint-like pair ! 
They hailed and fondly kissed each other there: 
Hand firmly clasped in hand and heart to heart. 
The vow was made, the twain should never part. 
But wing in endless friendship on the wind. 
Till man was free, — and free immortal mind. 



The weary pilgrims gathered on the shore, 

Which ne'er the name of God had heard before; 
Amid the group arose a man of age ; 
1 lis silver locks betokened him the sage : 



32 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

His voice though feeble was distinctly heard, 
For breathless silence waited on each word. 
"Friends of the Cross," with outstretch'd arms, he 

cried, 
"Why sit ye here the slumbering waves beside, 
If not to mingle prayer with fervent praise 
To Him who will attend our humble lays ? 
Far from the prince and the oppressor now, 
Low in his presence we may fearless bow, 
Unwatched by spies, among these clustering trees, 
And breathe our deep thanksgiving on the breeze." 

Heart beat to heart as quickened now by hope. 
To worship God the company stood up, 
And for a while forgetful of their wrongs, 
They shook the wilderness with thankful songs, 
Then on the green, beneath the oaks they bent, 
And grateful service to their God they sent. 

Years rolled in light away, the log huts rude, 
Which rose amid the lonely solitude ; 
And villages that glittered in the glade, 
Or hid their beauty in the valley's shade, 
Before improvement's progress disappeared, 
And cities gay, were in their places reared, 
The stricken few, upon the shining sands, 
That stood to worship with uplifted hands, 
Had multiplied to thousands ; the rich soil, 
Gave great abundance to the farmer's toil ; — 
The winds were pure, the people bless'd with health 
Pursued the liow'ry way that led to wealth ; 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 88 

Strangers and friends from other lands came o'er, 
In search of homes upon the vine-clad shore ; 
And where the forests with their foliage green, 

And savage hunters with their hows were seen. 
Fair Commerce moved amid the busy mart.. 
And skill exposed her specimens of Art. 

The stately cities of Columbia grew, 

And nourished 'neath the stainless arch of blue.. 

Which o'er them spread, all beautiful and bright, 

And poured upon their crowns, rich iloods of light. 

About their borders, robed in living green, 

The groves of nature, and the fields were seen — 

The cultured valley and the wooded hill, 

All glowing in their pristine splendors still. 

No walls of stone or towers uprearing high, 

Exposed their strength, the efforts to defy 

Of hostile nations and their warlike arts, 

Their mighty bulwarks were — united hearts. 

Thick in their midst the swelling domes appealed. 

And brazen steeples in the sunlight reared 

Their burning summits to the glowing sky. 

As pointing mankind to their homes on high. 

Twas morning in the season of the spring, 

When flowers had bloomed and birds began to sing ; 

The wind blew gently and the waves were still. 

And sunlight slept on city, plain and hill. 

A shadow passed a moment o'er the morn — 

Sounds as of rushing waters, swift were borne 



34 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

Upon the sluggish aether ; and appeared 

A form majestic, with a front upreared, 

And wings of brilliant plumage. From the clime 

Where Freedom nourished in the olden time, 

The dark brown Eagle, then her champion bold, 

Came to renew their friendship as of old. 

As through the soft empyrean he sailed, 

A serpent's frightful folds behind him trailed, — 

Fierce Despotism, the curse of man and mind, 

That many a nation to its doom consigned, 

Had closely followed in the Eagle's wake, 

The noble purpose of his soul to shake ; 

The mighty bird, unmindful of his foe, 

Pursued his way, the blue expanse below, 

Until he found a pleasant spot to light, 

Upon the Alleghany's top-most height ; 

Thence East he looked, as with a glance of fire, 

Upon the flashing dome and blazing spire — 

The marble pile that sweetly smiled below, 

With pillared front and frieze of spotless snow ; — 

And West upon the pathless forests wild, 

And mountain grandeurs o'er their bosoms piled, 

And rivers vast that hurried down their sides, 

Of deeper floods, the tributary tides; 

The scenes around, called up the mighty Eld, 

And ancient kingdoms he again beheld 

In all their primal glory; — then the blood 

Gushed from his heart anew, and as he stood — 

His broad beak red'ning in the flush of pride, 

He raised his wing with power from his side, 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 88 

As if in fierce defiance of the foe, 

That ere should dare the peace to overthrow, 

Which far and wide, like sacred Sabbath spread. 

And over all the land its beauty shed. 

He gazed upon the serpent, as he lay, 

Coiled oeath a rock and waiting for his prey, 

And spread his fearful talons in his strength, 

At the dark thought, the snake might wind his length. 

Around the beautiful — the blooming shores, 

And pour his poison into all their stores. 

It was to guard the treasures of the free. 

The Eagle made his journey o'er the sea : 

And that bright morning as he stood alone. 

A more than monarch on the lofty throne. 

That Nature's hand, on Alleghany high, 

I fad reared anear the never changing sky. 

il<- made the firm resolve, that Freedom's land. 

Should never wear the despot's burning brand. 

And he, amid the silence of that hour 

Invoked the aid of heaven — the mighty pow'r 

Of the Omniscient and Eternal God, 

That he might be the guard of sea and sod. 

And stand, commissioned by his holv deed. 

So shield the new-born nation in its need. 



The little cloud, less than a human hand. 
That hung at first above the western land, 
In glorious excellence began to rise, 
\nd mixed its brilliance with the burning skies: 



36 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

It spread in beauty tiU the azure height, 
Enrobed Columbia in its deathless light, 
The hallowed baldrick from Atlantic's breast, 
Spanned the broad heav'ns to the far distant west,-^- 
It lighted up the dark Pacific's wave, 
And in the brightness yet her waters lave, — 
Waiting in peace, until the busy throng, 
Shall wake their silence to perpetual song. 

The light streamed forth afar, and quickly came, 

In slime ensluiced to blur the sacred flame, 

The serpent Despotism. Upon his form 

He held the trophies dark of many a storm, 

And on his crown the withered laurels bore, 

That prosperous nations in their greenness wore : 

He waved his blood-stained tongue, and as he spoke 

In deaf'ning peals, his dreadful thunders broke, 

And horrid bolts of war in vengeance red, 

Flamed fearfully around Columbia's head. 

Her Genius looked and trembled, — well she knew 

The blood of patriots would the soil bedew, 

And every blooming vale, and hill, and plain, 

Display the ghastly corses of the slain. 

She stood in grief and gazed upon the gloom, 

That gathered 'round her hopes, so like the doom 

That over other nations threw its pall, 

And held them down, in darkness and in thrall. 

A thunder-peal she heard, — its fall she felt, 

A change came o'er her spirit and she knelt 

Beside a dying warrior on the field, — 

His blood the sacred sacrifice had sealed 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 31 

Of human liberty, and ere he died, 

He raised his streaming hands to heaven and cried, 

••I fall victorious, if my death shall be 

The honored deed that rallies brave and tree 

Around their country's standard, there to fall, 

Or save Columbia from the tyrant's thrall." 

The warrior spake no more, but gently laid 

His fevered hands across his fainting head, 

Weltering in the libation, from his breast, 

That flowed so pure, — he sunk away to rest. 

Thus fell, deserving of a world's applause, 

The first great martyr in a glorious cause." 

Another change, — the weeping Genius stood, 
Upon Mount Vernon's summit, near a wood. 
That wound its way from the Potomac's side 
As though it meant the chosen spot to hide 
From flowery hills beyond, that lifted high 
Their green and glowing bosoms to the sky. 
The hour was calm, nor blew the slightest breeze. 
To stir the foliage of the lofty trees ; 
And Nature seemed as sending from the sod. 
Her deep thanksgiving to the throne of God. 
A rustling of the leaves and sudden bound, 
Aroused the Genius, and she gazed around; — 
Two forms, the parting hushes half revealed. 
And yet the clustering foliage half concealed : — 
Her sister Liberty was standing there, 
And by her side a warrior, young and fair: 

W.irren. 



38 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

The warrior's arm her left hand gently grasped, 
And in her right, a parchment sheet she clasped. 
Columbia trembled, but no word she spoke, 
And thus fair Liberty, the silence broke. 

Darkness hath gathered over us, 

And fierce oppression's hand, 
Hath fixed its deadly grasp upon 

This bright and blooming land. 
The hungry despot stalks abroad, 

Amid the light of day, 
Through cities and the wilderness — 

A serpent for his prey. 

We trace his footsteps by the sea, 

And through the silent wood ; 
And on the rivers shaded banks, 

His path is stained with blood. 
We hear his thunder o'er the hill, 

The distant, dreadful roar ; 
And weep that e'er his foot had marred, 

The green — delightful shore. 

The armies of the free are here, 

With nervous arms and strong ; 
Not Rome's mailed cohorts fiercer were. 

In the redress of wrong. 
In silence and in gloom they wait, 

A warrior stern and brave, 
To lead them to the fields of war — 

To glory, or the grave. 



TRIUMPH or LIBERTY. W 

I've wandered from Atlantic's wave, 

West, to Pacific's shore ; 
The pathless mountain rough and wild, 

And vale I've travelled o'er. 
Amid the city full I've searched, 

And through the quiet glen, 
And every spot of this bright land, 

That hath a home for men. 

And here amid Mount Vernon's shade, 

I find the chieftain true ; 
The more than Roman who may lead, 

The glorious struggle through. 
Look on his tall, commanding form, — 

His forehead high and fair ; 
For God's unerring hand hath writ. 

Triumph already there. 

Look on his cheek where nobleness, 

And manly firmness glow ; 
His lip, that ne'er hath quivered ye 

But for a country's woe. 
Read, in the smile of sternness there, — 

Purpose that may not change : 
The index of a faithful heart, 

A throne may not estrange. 

He hath no mail about him bound, 

"No helmet on his brow ; 
But there he stands, without his pride 

Greater than Coosar now'. 



40 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

He fights not for the purple robe — 

Nor for the diadem ; 
Behold yon millions of the free, — 

He conquers but for them. 

We call him from these flow'ry paths, — 

The grove and sunlit field; 
Through danger we must walk with him, 

His buckler and his shield. 
Columbia! take him to your arms, 

Your noblest, — dearest son ; 
Together we will be the guard, 

Of matchless Washington. 

This burning parchment that I hold, 

f will consign to thee ; 
O shield the spotless — priceless, sheet — 

The birthright of the free. 
And may your borders roll in blood, — 

Yourself in gloom be laid, 
Ere from the sacred instrument, 

A single line may fade. 

And thou, first champion in the cause, 

Of human liberty ! 
Be not discouraged though that cause, 

In darkness yet may be. 
The storm will spread, and deeper gloom, 

Shall over it be cast ; 
But light from heaven's eternal halls, 

Shall brighten it at last. 



1RUMIMI or LIBERTY. 41 

I place this banner in thy hand, 

Columbia's stripes it bears ; 
Go! wave it 'mid the battle's heat, 

And cover it with stars. 
Go chieftain brave ! the battle waits, 

The burning soil to stain ; 
And many a gloomy hour shall pass, 

Ere we shall meet again. 

But we shall meet — aye meet again, 

When war's fierce rage is done, — 
When furious clouds that gather now. 

Around our sky have gone. 
( 'olumbia weeps ! warrior away ! 

When triumph is complete, 
Return with laurels thou may'st win. 

And lay them at her feet. 



The chieftain grasped his sword, — to battle sped, 
The banner's folds amid the smoke he spread : 
High on the winds the crimson stripes they bore, 
And many a field unharmed it wafted o'er. 
The tempest gathered, — darker still it grew. 
In fitful streams the vivid lightnings threw 
Their fiery arrows o'er the fearful night ; 
They flashed a moment 'mid the tempest's might, 
And then a deeper desolation dealt — 
And thicker darkness that was even felt. 



42 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 

Doubt long upon the dreary contest hung, 
Till from her den, infernal Treachery sprung* 
In aid of Despotism, she touched the scale — 
The balance trembled, and the mournful wail 
Of injured thousands, swept upon the air, 
From hearts that felt the horrors of despair. 
The storm raged fiercely when the traitor crept, 
In midnight darkness, while the army slept, 
And like a robber from the chieftain's bed, 
Bore off the sword that hung beside his head. 
The shining falchion to the foe he sold, 
The price of the detested deed, — was gold. 

When morning flashed upon the tent-crowned hill, 
Confounded stood Columbia's hosts, and still ; 
A monarch's mighty ships, at anchor lay 
With troops on board, before them in the bay. 
And they had sailed the bounding billows o'er, 
To bear the chief a prisoner from his shore, — 
Who had defied the tyrant's mad decree, 
And boldly led the hosts that dared be free. 
Oppression's ranks marched forward in their might, 
With swords unsheathed and ready for the fight ; 
The broadest blade amid the throngs that shone. 
Was the victorious steel of Washington. 

Then drooped Columbia's banner on the wind ; 
She feared her glory all would be consigned 
With the high prospects of her children brave, 
To the deep gloom of dark oblivion's grave. 

* Arnold's treason. 



TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. UJ 

The toe advanced, and in the sunlight flashed 
Ten thousand scymetars; in air they clashed, 
And the tumultuous — the deafening clang, 
Seemed as if Freedom's knell it fiercely rang ; 
The forest bright of steel, in terror gleamed, 
A phalanx wild of fire, on high it streamed. 
The nation was betrayed and bowed in grief, 
She mourned the danger of her dauntless chief; 
l T nnumbered hearts with sorrow were inflamed. — 
His stolen sword, at his own heart was aimed — 
The serpent's sting was quivering o'er his head. 
His swollen fangs for his bare breast were spread, 
And his enormous length was firmly wound, 
The snow white base of Freedom's temple round. 
Jit- paused a moment, ere he struck the blow. 
Destined to lay the hopes of Freedom low — 
A moment for exulting in his might ; 
And shook his horrid jaws in wild delight, 
A signal was that pause, of death to him, 
His head shrunk back and his fierce gaze grew dim. 
The scream of joy was made a dreadful shriek, — 
He writhed in death in the brown Eagle's beak. 
Then from the hero's heart his sword was caught, 
Ere the dread deed of darkness it had wrought 
The Genius saw the storm the warrior braved, 
And to his rescue came; — millions were saved. 

Foul Treason's triumph, was as base as brief, 
His stolen Bword, Boon Pound the anxious chief; 
And by his hands were other laurels won 
Of high renown, to bind its hilt upon. 



44 SIRES OF SEVENTY-SIX. 

The tyrant's race upon Columbia's plains, 

Gained him but little honor for his pains. 

In eager haste he hurried from the shore, 

That by his treach'rous deeds was stained in gore. 

The blood of patriot hearts his armies shed, 

The soil had drank from bosoms of the dead, 

'Twas Freedom's baptism sanctified by Fame, 

That gave to Glory fair Columbia's name. 

The shouts of the brave went over the sea, 

The Chieftain has Conquered, — Columbia is Free. 



THE SIRES OF 'SEVENTY- SIX.' 

The chain that links the free to other years, — 
Remembered years of danger and of blood, 
Remains unsevered ; yet among us move 
Like suns amid the systems of the skies, — 
Points of attraction for the wondring throngs, 
A few of those who perilled life and fame, 
And nobly dared the thunderbolts of war, 
To wrest a nation from a tyrant's grasp. 
Their eyes looked on the Revolution's smoke — 
They saw the starry banner of the free, 
Waving in beauty 'mid the battle's blaze, 
And heard the shout its high success that cheered 
And they have told the tale of glorious deeds, 
Their sons may boast for centuries to come. 



GUENEVER. 45 



GUENEVER 



B A. I. LAD 



PART 



Guenever was Kinge Arthur's queene, 
She dweltc in mcrrie Carlicle ; 

And she was verie faire I weene, 
A light and a glcesome chile. 

The red rose ripened on her cheeke, 
The cherrie on her sweet lip ; 

And on her steed, coal blacke and sleeke, 
She oft through the chase did whip. 

All in her crimson sarke so gay, 
She rode with the ladyes bright ; 

The loveliest of all that rode by day — 
The fairest that rode by night. 

Kin^e Arthur loved his winsome bride, 
With love as strong as could be ; 

He thought in all the worlde beside, 
There was none so faire as she. 



46 GUENEVER. 

He bantered every knighte and squire, 

A ladye as faire to bringe ; 
And swore the browne-eyed winner's hire 

Should be the hearte of a kinge. 

Away on their steedes, white, blacke, and browne. 
Flew a thousande knightes and more ; 

And well they searched through everie towne, 
Till they reached a river's shore — 

The waves whereof so darke and colde, 

Wore a hue of sicklie greene ; 
And of those waves, strange tales where told — 

Strange beings among them seene. 

Sir Cradocke, asked his comrades brave, 

And he asked them one and all, 
If they'd go with him o'er the wave, 

Or turn eache backe to his halle. 

They answered one, and answered alle, 

"Sir Cradocke we'd rather go 
Eache one backe to his princelie halle, 

Than sinke the darke wave below." 

"Then hie thee knightes, full swifte," he cried, 

"Away to Kinge Arthur's court; 
And ask if his oath he will abide 1 

Or means with his knightes to sport ? 



gui: n 1: VKR. 

"Tell him Sir Cradocke shall returne 

\ ver to his castle more, 
'Till his heart for the laireste ladye burne, 

Or the worlde be travel o'er." 

He plunged into the darksome floode, 

And soone from the other side 
To his comrade knightes he called aloude, 

••The faire queene shall be my bride." 

'Twas then he spurred his milke white steede. 

Over hill and dale away : 
Never was made such vvinde-like speede, 

By knighte in Kinge Arthur's day : 

Through town and forestc travelled he, 
For two hundred days and two. 

When he tied his steede to a tall rowne tree, 
And his bugle loud he blew 

Shrill o'er the mountaine wente the blaste, 
And while there Sir Cradocke stoode, 

A band of four-score men full i'aste 

Came trampling through the darke woode. 

Then cried Dyke-lira, the leader bolde, 

"Sir Knighte, say what dost thou here 
Among these holley rownes so old ' 

My brave men dost thou not lea re '" 



i: 



48 GUENEVER. 

"Brave spirits never feare the brave," 

Sir Cradocke did quicke replie, 
"Nor I'd turn my heel my head to save 

For no woman's heart have I ; 

"And I have travelled many a mile, 

For a ladye faire to finde — 
Fairer than any in Carliele, 

That I have left me behinde." 

Dyke-lin then started with surprise, 
"What!" he exclaimed, "hast thou, 

Rode on this steede ayont Carliele 
From Arthur's court until now ?" 

"I sweare me by thy bugle's throate, 
The old fairie's friende thou art ; 

Or thou hadst lain in her rowne boate, 
And she had roasted thy heart. 

"Come say Sir Knighte what saide the weife 
As thou didst pass the cold streame ? 

Didst hear some victim's stifled griefe ? 
Didst hear the old witche's screame V 

"I left my comrades, bolde Dyke-lin, 

Standing the river beside, 
And plunged the dark green waves within, 

Resolving for my queene bride. 



GUENEVER. 49 

'•I saw the boate, but never hearde 
The sadde victim's smotherde sighes, 

But as the warblinge of a birde, 
Faintlie did sweete music rise. 

•'Louder and louder on the breeze, 

It hurriede so faste and free : 
It causde to dance the verie trees, 

In their joyous extasie. 

"It cheerde me through the gloomy tide. 

And my steede dancde with delighte, 
When on the rlowerie banks this side, 

Fairie forms in robes of white. 

"Stoode up in rankes to guarde us bie. 

The borders of the goblin shade. 
Where the dark witche's murder crie. 

For many centuries has staide. 

"We passde full swifte the shining thronge, 

As they sported on the greene : 
Before was never hearde such songe, 

Never was such beautie scene." 

"I knowe from this," then Dyke-lin saide, 

"The fairie is a friende to thee : 
And thy goodlie spcede hath made 

Thee, friends of my goode men and me." 



50 GUENEVER. 

"Know then, Sir Knighte, that e'er hath passde, 

Nor steede nor his rider bolde, 
The ferrie where the fairies caste, 

Their nettes with fastninges of golde." 

"Unless his conscience has remainde 

Untaintede by crime and w T hite ; 
Unless his honor were unstainde 

By a solitarie blighte. 

"And thou'rt the verie, verie knighte, 

I've tarriede long to beholde ; 
Look ye upon yon turrette brighte, 

On the hill so bleake and colde. 

"'Tis the castle of an Earlie talle, 
Who ownes alle these fertile landes ; 

An hundrede men he holdes in thralle, 
And his golde is as the sandes. 

"His daughter is a maidene faire, 

Not more faire to him than deare, 
Her eyes are brighte and browne her haire, 

None can match her, far nor neare. 

"The fairie of Caliza sate, 

When the Earlie's babe was borne, 

A watcher at the castle gate, 

For the firste red streake of morne. 



GUENEV I. K. 

'•And when it ilashde upon the skie, 

She, the tiny prattler namde, 
And in the wordes of destinie, 

Thus alouclc her will proclaimde. 

<4 The noble Earlie's matchless chile. 

If by common eve not seene, 
Shall o'er the kingdome of Carliele 

Reign the brighte and beauteous queene. 

"And he that wins her lillie hande, 
Muste have honor pure as lighte ; 

He, on Caliza's banks muste stande, 
Harmless of the goblin's blightc. 

"And now Sir Knighte, it is thyselfe, 

Who the fairies test hath stoode: 
Ghost shall harm, nor goblin elfe, 
One of such untaintede bloode. 

"Then follow thou these sturdie men — 
These free heartede men of mine; 

And do thou thinke of Dvke-lin when 
The faire Mardia shall be thine." 

Then, shoutede Dykc-lin's men foure-score, 
• \ lie joy to Dyke-lin the great !" 

And then Sir Cradocke they quicklie bore 
Up to the old Earlie's gate. 



51 



52 GUENEVER. 

They rappde full loude — but rappde not longe, * 
When the castle's doores flew wide : 

The prieste that nighte 'mid laugh and songe, 
Made Mardia, Sir Cradocke's bride. 

Sir Cradocke with the Earlie stayde, 

Till the feaste and fun were o'er ; 
When with his bride and steede he made 

For his loved Carliele once more. 

Soon spreade the lovelie Mardia's fame 

Through the kingdome of Carleile ; 
And all the knights and ladyes came 

To Kinge Arthur's Courte ere-while. 

And many a knighte that caught a glance, 

At beautiful Mardia's cheeke : 
Full quicklie turnde his eye askance, 

And to hide himself did seeke. 

Proude as erst of his Guenever, 

Kinge Arthur he chose the time, 
When the knightede hoste shoulde matche with her, 

The ladyes of everie clime. 

'Twas night — a thousande torches blazde ' 

In the castle of the kinge, 
And each glad knighte in rapture gazde 

On the faire bride he did bringe. 



GUE NEVER. 51 

Arthur shoutede with mad delighte, 

When in his owne brilliante halle, 
'Tvvas hie each ladye said, and knighte — 

"Guenever is faireste of alle." 

"Make way, make way," was hearde a calle, 
"vSir Cradocke comes, make waye;" 

He leads into Kinge Arthur's halle, 
A ladye most fair and gaye. 

Then with a peale, a mightye pcale 

Of applause the halle did ringe ; 
The knightede thronge cried out, "we yielde, 

The faireste doth Cradocke bringe." 

The color lefte Kinge Arthur's face, 

And pale he turnde verie soone : 
Guenever telle frome her princelie place ; 

Upon the floore in a swoone. 

Sir Cradocke cried, "I crossdc Calize, 

The faireste ladye to bringe ; 
And no we do I demande the prize. 

The bearte of Carliele's proude kinge." 



5* 



54 GUENEVER. 



GUENEVER 



A L LA D . 



PART II 



Guenever wepte in the princelie halle, 

She wepte in her chamber lone ; 
'Twere worse to her than deathe's grim palle, — 

The deede Kinge Arthur had done. 

The rose fulle soone frome her cheeke did fade, 
And her cheeke grew wan and pale ; 

The red cherrie on her lip that laide, 
As soone from her lip did faile. 

Her crimsone sarke on the closete laye, 
Neglectede and coverde with duste ; 

'Twas neither worne by nighte nor daye, 
But lefte alone in its ruste. 

Her noble steede so shininge and blacke, 

Was heeded bie her no more ; 
She strokde not his side, nor mounted his backe, 

To ride in the chase as before. 



GUE NEVER. 56 

Jt were a sighte one's griefe to stir, 

To looke on her swollene eye ; 
And thinke there were none coulde comfort e her, 

None her saite teares that coulde drie. 

She wepte not, that Sir Cradocke had founde, 

A lovelier bride than she ; 
But she wepte that Kinge Arthur had bounde 

Himselfe bie a pledge so free. 

The pledge to every knighte and squire, 

A fairer than she to bringe, 
A pledge that the browne-eyed winner's hire, 

Should be the hearte of a kinge. 

Full well she knew that no kinge's hearte. 

But his owne had Arthur to give; 
And it, in life or deathe was her parte, 

Wiihoute it she coulde not live. 

The ladyes alle in merrie Carliele, 
Scornde at the griefe of the queene ; 

Theyc callde her a lighte and foolishe chile, 
That once too happie had beene. 

And bie the side of knighte and squire, 

Theye boastedc Guenever's paine, 
Sayinge, "her rose had borne a brier, 

And woulde not a rose againe." 



56 GUENEVER. 

Midste of their joye, in Carliele parke, 

Once they assemblede for glee ; 
On a pole they hunge a crimsone sarke, 

In mockerie sporting free. 

Loud did theye crie "Guenever thou, 
Art a winsome queene no more ; 

The brooches of thie rich sarke nowe 
From thie proude bosome are tore. 

"Then come thee downe from thie castle talle, 
From thie castle talle come downe ; 

Kinge Arthur, he has had a greate falle, 
His ladye has crackde her crowne. 

"'Twas over his wine that Arthur swore, 
His owne kinglie hearte awaye ; 

The price of his oathe Sir Cradocke bore, 
The hearte must be his this daye. 

"Go up Sir Cradocke, the palme is thine, 

Go up Sir Cradocke the brave ; 
At thie bride's feete shall Guenever whine, 

When Arthur is in his grave." 

They dancde and shoutede till paste midnighte 

When a talle old hag came bie ; 
With her foldede armes she stoode uprighte, 

And thus to the thronge did crie : 



GUE NEVER. 57 

••I have a tale for ye, fair ladyes, 

I've a tale for ye one and alle ; 
To listen well to't ye muste please, 

Or under mie vengeance lalle. 

"For sporte ye came to this parkc yestreene, 
Your heartes were alle gleesome then ; 

And I heardc your mirthe of Arthur's queene , 
Awaye in mie own darke den. 

"It were shame, ye winsome ones, 'twere shame, 

To mocke at a sister's griefe ; 
For this foule deede ye are muchc to blame. 

And muste seeke your ownc reliefe. 

"One of you or her knighte muste ride, 

To Caliza's fairie grim : 
And get release for Kinge Arthur's bride, 

And get release for him. 

"Or bie the mirthe ye have had to-nighte, 

Bie the mirthe ye had yestreene ; 
Shalle come on ye alle a deadlier blighte, 

Than ever befelle the queene. 

"For the heartes of your proude lordes shall be, 

Torne oute before youre eyes ; 
And with youre children's — one, two, three, 

Theye shalle broile amid youre cries." 



58 GUENEVER. 

Then screamde the hag an unearthlie screame, 

Her armes flew open the while ; 
Among the darke shades a lighte did gleanie. 

And down felle the heart of a chile. 

A flame of pale blue environde it rounde, 

Brisklie it broilde in the fire ; 
And the headless chile dancde on the grounde, 

Shriekinge in paine and in ire. 

"This is mie proofe," the old hag criede, 

"This is mie proof to-nighte ; 
And ere nine suns over heade have hiede, 

Mie wordes shall be finishde quite." 

She graspde the chile and hurriede awaye, 
Swift through the woode on the aire : 

Leaving the ladyes so in dismaye, 
Theye coulde not telle how or where. 

/While the ladyes were holdinge their sporte 

In the lone and distant place ; 
Some of the knightes returnde frome Courte, 

And some returnde from the chase. 

One rappde loude at his chamber doore, 
And one rappde longe at his halle ; 

Their shouts were repeatede o'er and o'er, 
But no one answerde the calle. 



GUE NEVER. 58 

Nothinge was hearde but the rappe and shoute, 

In all Carliele that nightc ; 
The lordes supposde theye were boltede oute 

By their ladyes faire for spite. 

The sound of Sir Cradocke's bugle shrille. 

Its notes over Carliele threwe: 
The sounde passde oft" and all was stille, 

Then an hundrede bugles blewe. 

The knightes then met in Sir Cradocke's halle, 

Each with his belte and sworde : 
And there theye swore to perish or calle, 

Sir Cradocke their kinge and lorde. 

Their bolted halles and their ladyes faire, 

Were soone forgotten in joye — 
In their huntinge suites theye revellde there 

With none their &\ee to annove. 

Right hartie theye laughde at Arthur's pride, 

Theye callde him a foolishe thinge, 
That he for a fairer than his bride, 

Shoulde pledge the hearte of a kinge. 

Right heartie they laughde — the wine they pas*<l< 
Arounde, more than three times three ; 

And fulle as often their pledges caste, 
Forever one bande to be. 



60 GUENEVER. 

A pause was made in the merrimente, 
The rattlinge of silkes was hearde ; 

And a shrill crie, as of voices blente, 

Made eache knighte graspe his goode sworde. 

The doore that was boltede as firme and faste, 

As anie doore in Carliele ; 
With a thundringe blowe was open caste, 

And playde on its hinge awhile. 

Then rushde into the shining halle, 

The ladyes alle in a frighte ; 
Each one stoutlie for helpe did calle, 

And graspde the hande of her knighte. 

Then on his feete Sir Cradocke arose, 

Thus to the ladyes, he saide ; — 
"Why for youre sporte this time have ye chose, 

When ye shoulde be alle abede ? 

And whie did ye bolte the castle doores, 
When youre lordes were alle awaye ; 

Ye've a scheme on hand, the blame is youres, 
For the knightes wille triumphe to-daye." 

Then the beautiful Mardia arose, 

To her lorde and the knightes she saide ; 

"Attende Sir Knightes and we'll disclose, 
Whie we are not now abede." 



GUENEVEE.. <'»1 

Then she tolde theire plaie in Carliele parkc. 

How theye mockdc at Guenewi : 
How theye hung liiglie up her crimsone sarke, 

And laughed at the kin^c and her. 

And she tolde them of the olde hag talle. 

In the parke that came them hie : 
And of the frighte that did them befalle. 

When the chile's hearte she did frie. 

"Ami imw Sir Cradocke my love," she cried. 

And she cried moste bitterlie ; 
••If thou and these knightes our steade wonte bide, 

'Tis a terrible thinge for we." 

Then said Sir Cradocke, — then said the knightes, 

•'These wilie dames are too bolde; 
To save ourselves the reines in I If tighte, 

Of their pastime we must holde. 

-And we will fighte in their lawful cause. 

That comes in the open daye ; 
But for nightlie trickes not kinge nor lawes, 

Shall force us them to obeye." 

Then the ladves all to weepinge folic. 

They wepte and theire handes theye wrunge ; 
The depthe of their woe theye COulde not telle. 

And eache to her owne lorde clun 



62 GUENEVER. 

Teares and entreaties were in vaine, 
The goode men they could not move ; 

Then bitterlie did they complaine, 
That their lordes did not them love. 

A change then over their feelings came, 

Deepe sorrow did theye aver ; 
That theye had spake ille of Arthur's name, 

And ille of his Guenever. 

And alle the ladyes in fair Carliele, 

Partooke of Guenever's woe ; 
They wishde her as erst a gleesome chile, 

When her mirthe a streame did flowe. 

Again they met in Carliele parke, 

A solemne council to holde ; — 
They met arrayde in bonnete and sarke, 

And eache with plentie of golde. 

Bridlede and saddlede their steedes stoode bie, 
Waitinge till theye shoulde decide ; 

Whether to mounte theire backes and fiie, 
Or the wrathe of the hag abide. 

Theye tarriede not longe, but soone agreede. 

And there was not one saide, naye, — 
That eache shoulde mounte on her bonnie steede, 

And awaye to Calize that daye. 



G I 1. N 1. \ ER. »'>•'{ 

Never was scene bie ladye or kniglite. 
In Carliele, or the worlde, tille then ; 

Ladyes set forth in such wondrouse sighte, 
Bie far they outstrippde the men. 

Repentede then did JSir Cradocke's hearte, 
1 le mountede his milke white steede : 

And startede soone after theye did starte, 
To catche theni he rode with speede. 

When he came up, he criede "ladyes faire, 
1 praye ye turne youre steedes backe; 

And 1 will to the fairie repair, 

For welle I do knovve the tracke." 

Welle pleasdc were theyc alle, and shoutedc theye, 

••To Sir Cradocke alle successe, 
If he dothe ride in our steade to-daye, 

The fairie the deede shalle blesse." 

Then Sir ( 'radocke his white steede spurrde, 

And rode to the river's brinkc : 
There, when the crie of a chile he hearde, 

His hearte withine him did sinke. 

He thought of Mardia and the tale, 

She tolde of the hag in the parke ; 
Then did his courage beeine t<> faile. 

For the woodes arounde grewe darke. 



64 'GUENEVER. 

Not longe bie the river's brinke he stoode, 

When the rowne boate floatede bie ; 
Then raisde his haire and froze his bloode, 

A sighte on the bottom did lie. 

The hag with a hundrede heartes, sat there, 

With life alle quiveringe yete ; 
She wipede offe the bloode with her mattede haire 

And then a broade knife she whete. 

Shriekinge with joye she cut them in twaine, 

And into the fire, them threwe ; 
Thrice greater became Sir Cradocke's paine, 

As close to the shore she drewe. 

She sprinklede the ashes on the shore, 

An hundrede fairie formes rose ; 
Theye stoode alle up Sir Cradocke before, 

And soothde his feares to repose. 

Then callinge upon Sir Cradocke's name, 

Quicke boundinge over the wave ; 
The fairie of Caliza came, 

And the hundrede formes she drave ! 

"Sir Cradocke," said she «nowe mounte thie steede, 

And haste thee backe to Carliele, 
Haste thee backe to Carliele with speede, 

For thou shalt be kinge awhile. 



GV I. M.\ E R. 85 

"Thou shalt be kinge but a single daye, 

Then the hearte of a kinge is thine ; 
And thou shalt yeilde to Arthur straightwaye, 

The pledge he made when in wine. 

•'Then shalt thou save the heartes from paine 

Of childer and ladyes faire ; 
And Carliele shalle be merrie againe, 

The glee againe shall be there." 

Soone on his steede Sir Cradocke sprunge, 

And hurriede baeke to Carliele ; 
Where joye was shoutede bie everie tongue, 

And he was kinge for the while. 

And then kinge Arthur again was kinge, 

And ( ruenever, she was queene ; 
Never before or since such a ringe 

Of joye, in Carliele hathe beene. 

Kinge Arthur dwelte in his castle high, 

In favore withe alle his knightes; 
And Guenever, the pride of his eye, 

With her ladyes joinde in delightes. 

This lesson the kinge and knightes welle learnde. 

Never to pledge when in wine ; 
And this goode advice the ladyes earnde, 

Not to speak ill of theire kine. 



6« 



MY FIRST NEW HAT 



!■ J remember well the day, 

'Tis like a dream just passed away — 
When my first hat was bought; 

1 laid it on the chair and stood, 
With folded arms in pompous mood, 

Wrapt up in glorious thought. 

As proud as any lord was I, 

And thought myself full five feet high, 

Too tall to play with toys; 
Awhile I stood to ape the man, 
Then snatched my hat and off I ran, 

To show it to the boys. 

And many a hand that hat passed through, 
I watched them all, said I, "'tis new, 

Take care ! don't soil the crown ; 
For if you do my pa I'll tell, 
And he'll come out and trounce you well, 

Or else I'll knock you down." 



MY FIRST NEW HAT. ('»? 

A score of hats were soon pulled on', — 
A score of youngsters tried to scoff, 

Each vowed his hat was best ; 
"And only see," said Barker's Jim, 
"How much mine has a broader brim, 

Worth more than all the rest." 

Said I, "mine's newest, and of course, 
For wearing can be none the worse, 

And must be best of all ; 
Just see the crown, how high it is, 
None has a higher crown than this, 

Take care ! don't let it fall," 

"I care not," said another voice, 
"For Barker's Jim, nor all the boys, 

Nor do I wish to boast : 
If mine's not best, I'll never move, 
And by the hatter I can prove, 

That it has cost the most." 

"Its very strange," said I, "that Jim, 
Should call this lower part the bri?n, 

The like I never heard : 
Its rim, my papa told me so, 
And by the spelling book I'll show. 

That, he's miscalled the word." 



68 MY FIRST NEW HAT. 

"Its rim," "its brim," the urchin crew, 
All shouted out ; each swore he knew, 

And said he learned at school, — 
To spell it rim, and spell it brim ; 
So right, and wrong, was Barker's Jim, 

And each clung to his rule. 

Then rant and tear, to fight we went, 
To settle fairly the event, 

iVnd spell the word aright ; 
And many a ragged vest and shirt, 
And many a face besmeared with dirt, 

Resulted from the fight. 

Revenge was pictured in each eye, 
Each one resolved to do or die, 

And high his wrath did foam ; 
Into the ring, I foremost dashed, 
My hat was all to flinders smashed, 

And I went bawling home. 

Now, circumstances since have shown, 
That men are children — older grown, 

And quarrel yet o'er words ; 
They beat and bruise each other sore, 
Wreak petty vengeance o'er and o'er, 

For they would all be lords. 



THE AMERICAN EAGLE. 



Away from the beautiful earth I fly, 

Through the ambient air alone ; 
To lave in the light of yon deep blue sky. 

And bask in the blaze of the sun, 

The day-king's beams, like an angel's gaze. 

Burning on jasper and gold ; — 
Shall illumine my path with his brilliant blaze. 

And the tale of his glory unfold. 

Philosophy tells of his aulick reign, 
Where immensity's lights grow dim ; 

And gaily I'll ride on his rays to gain, 
A closer communion with him. 

With a bounding heart in the golden tide 
Of his beams, my stern beak I'll dip ; 

With the myriad worlds through space that ride. 
I shall ride in companionship. 



70 THE AMERICAN EAGLE. 

Like them, for awhile, upon high I shall soar, 

Unmindful of danger or dread ; 
My purpose, the regions of space to explore, 

By the light of those regions led. 

Far, far from the beautiful world I go, 
Through the ocean of aether to swim ; 

I'll sweep for yon cloud of crystal and snow, 
And bathe in the light of its rim. 

Where nought but the cloud is wandering now,. 

Shall be my heavenward way ; 
Its halo of glory shall circle my brow 

While my breast on its bosom I lay. 

Where the flood-gate of heaven its beauty unbars, 
I shall soar on the strength of my wing ; 

And watched by the sun or the clustering stars, 
My song in their light I shall sing. 

My wings become restless, — I must away, 
To scream o'er the skies in m y mirth ; 

Adieu fair Columbia — adieu for a day, 
Farewell for awhile, beauteous earth. 



TOMB OF BOZZAHIS. 



"No monumental marble emblazons his deeds and fame; a few round 
Stones piled over his head are all that mark his grave." — Stevens. 



The Suliote laid his chieftain's head 

Beside the ruins of his home ; 
With stones unhewn he marked his bed. 

While rifled fane and fallen dome 
Lav strewn around the hallowed spot. 

To tell the Greek who there might tread. 
How deep had been the damning blot. 

The hated Moslem's hand had made. 
Tho' scattered round were base and frieze, 
He would not make his tomb of these. 



Why rear the monumental stone, 
To tell of triumph — such as his ' 

Not Missilonghi's plain alone. 
Could be a tomb for Bozzaris, 



72 TOMB OF BOZZARIS. 

His mangled body Greece may claim, 
And on her breast his bones may sleep ; 

But to the world belongs his fame — 
The world will his memorial keep. 

On history's deathless page 'tis writ, 

Nor time, nor change may darken it. 

Whose hand, of a dishonored race, 

Shall rear the sculptured pile to tell 
The honored earthly resting place, 

Where the brave Suliote's ashes dwell ? 
What monarch's tread 1— what foot of slave, 

That hurries at a monarch's nod, 
Shall touch the glorious martyr's grave — 

Shall desecrate the sacred sod 
That hides the hero's blanching form, 
From nature's and the tyrant's storm ? 

For Greece, her matchless chieftain drew 

His sabre from its gilded sheath: — 
For her in vengeance swift he flew, 

A meteor 'mid the ranks of death. 
His single arm upraised in wrath, 

Made havoc of the Pacha's train; 
It hewed for him a bloody path, 

And piled his passage with the slain. 
Behold him, Greece, — your gallant son, 
For you, hath all but freedom won. 



TOMB OF BOZZARIS. 

And many years o'er Greece must fly, 

Ere she that freedom may obtain : 
And many a valiant head must lie, 

As low as her Bozzaris slain, — 
Before the laurel circlet clasp 

Her brow, so mangled now — so torn, 
Still bleeding in the tyrant's grasp 

As though no jewels it had worn. 
She trembles at the tyrant's will, 
But Greece in gloom is honored still. 

And Greece hath ever had a deed, 

That might redeem her darkest hour, — 
That in her day of deepest need, 

Hath wounded her oppressor's power ; — 
And Greece hath ever had a son, 

Who dared to strike for liberty, — 
As well may witness Marathon, 

And witness dark Thermopylae. 
And she hath shown in battle's rage, 
A Miltiades for every age. 

She brought him forth when Persian feet 
In millions o'er her mountains spread. 

To force them back in swift retreat, 

And strew their pathway with the dead : — 

She brought him forth when Turkish knaves. 
Upon her ruined temples stood; 

And bade him teach the worst of slaves, • 

Her price for liberty was blood. 

7 



74 TOMB OF BOZZARIS. 

The first one humbled Persian pride, 
The last for Greece and Freedom died. 

The children of the Suliote's heart ! 

The wife ! more dear to him than they, 
Though death be in the hour they part, 

He tears his hopes from them away, 
And flings them 'mid the battle's ire, 

Where falls the thunder's dreadful peal, 
And flames the lightning's lurid fire ; — 

The roaring gun — the clang of steel, 
And sabre ringing 'gainst the shield, 
His only welcome to the field. 

The smoking rock — the gory plain, 

The hearth-stone and the home must be 
Of him who rises, right to gain, — 

Who treads war's tempest to be free. 
And who is there could stand unmoved, 

And gaze on desolation made, 
By ruthless hands on scenes he loved — 

And see his home in ashes laid, 
Nor feel the passion-swell begin, 
The workings of a storm within ? 

Voices from Missilonghi call ! 

The mountains echo and the sea ; 
"How many with Bozzaris fall, 

To make their bleeding country free ?" 



TOMB OF BOZZAKIS. 75 

Two thousand answer, "side by side, 
We follow where our chief may lead." 

No — for the base Mustapha's pride, 
Two thousand Suliotes shall not bleed ; 

What to the pass the Spartan bore, 

Three hundred, — we may ask no more. 1 

Three hundred Suliotes leagued for Greece, 

And eacli a new Leonidas ! 
Ere the proud Moslem conquers these, 

The last one's life-stream stains the pass. 
Their hearts are beating warm and hisjh. 

And theirs are sinews stern and strong ; 
They've registered their oaths to die,— 

Die rather than endure the wrong 
The heartless Turk designed should be 
The Greek's unchancjinsj destiny. 

(D CD J 

When midnight like a mantle spread 

O'er Missilonghi, — and her foes 
Were sleeping, silent as the dead, 

Secure amid their deep repose, — 
Loud rang the voice of Bozzaris, 

"When my fierce bugle's blast is spent, 
( >n for the fight, — if me ye miss, 
Ye'll find me in the Pacha's tent." 



' Tli. Snliote army numtareil two thousand men, Bozzaris demanded 
of everj- QM who was willing t.. U lid to (lie sacrifice, to ailvaiu M and 
meet him ; they advanced to a man. "These" said he, "are too many 
to be sacrificed,' 3 and he chose three hundred from their ranks. 



76 TOMB OF BOZZARIS. 

They found him there — the Moslem's lead. 
Had cleft his heart and cleft his head.* 

So died the brave — and who had not 

In such a cause as nobly died ? 
He left his name without a blot, 

The orphan's boast — the widow's pride. 
The Suliote's and the Spartan's name, 

And Greeks that fell at Marathon, 
The cup hath filled of Grecian fame, 

With deeds by valor nobly won ; 
Nor time, that rifles tower and tomb, 
The glory of those deeds shall gloom. 

O Greece? thou hast indeed a name, — 

A glory that may never fade ; 
Though past may be thy years of fame, 

Thy heroes in the tomb be laid, 
Yet still there is a majesty 

About thy being — live that must, 
- When nations that have trampled thee, 

Are mingled with Oblivion's dust. 
There is in thy proud sun though set, 
A grandeur that doth gild thee yet. 



* The sound of Bozzaris' bugle was the signal for the fight ; he told 
his men that as soon as he had sounded, to rush to the attack, if they 
lost sight of him to seek him in the pacha's tent. After he had made 
prisoner of the pacha a ball entered his loins ; he still continued with 
his arms upraised to cheer and animate his countrymen ; a second ball 
struck him on the head,— he fell and expired. 



TOMB OF BOZZARIS. 77 

Go Suliote ! venerate the dust, 

That hides thy chieftain from thee now ; 
If wear the Moslem's chain thou must, 

Wear it not on thy manly brow. 
The Turk his banner hath unfurled, 

( Per thy own blood-besprinkled plains : 
But tell the Turk, and tell the world, 

That thou wilt e'en be free in chains. 
Thy heart may mourn their dark control, 
But tyrants cannot bind thy soul. 

When evening throws her twilight round, 

And thou thy daily task hast wrought; 
Go forth and seek the sacred mound 

Which Suliote feet have often sought ; — 
Away from toil and taskmen steal, 

To think on your Bozzaris true ; 
And bending o'er his ashes feel, 

In thought and soul a freeman too. 
Thy loved Bozzaris — proudly, free, 
Breathed out his life for liberty. 

His kindred of Columbia's land, 

Who bared the breast — and bared the brow ; 
And rushed at Freedom's stern command, 

Are slumbering with the Suliote now : 
The grave has won them — safe they rest, 

Beneath the soil they sanctified : 
The millions they in dying blest, 

And gave to Freedom when they died — 
Unhappy Greece, shall claim thy son, 
The kindred of their Washington. 



RETROSPECTION. 



1 am not old, though it may be, that years 
Have twined a few white strans among the locks, 
That cluster on my crown quite thickly yet; 
And there may be athwart my brow, perchance 
A line or two, — not made by joyous youth, 
And a slight furrow on my sunburnt cheek, 
Which may betray a secret known to few, — 
That I have had companionship with care ; — 
Aye, with care, for rude winds that sometimes blow 
Over this beautiful, but changing world, 
Have swept their dreary and their chilling course 
Across my heart, and borne its hopes away. 
But yet the blood flows free, and fresh, and warm, 
And fevered too, at times that finds its way . 
So punctually through my well bound veins. 
And though not very many dreary years 
Have I been journeying over this green earth, 
Yet I have seen the foot-marks of old Time, 
And mourned the devastation thev have left. 



RETROSPECTION. 78 

In thought, I sometimes travel to the scenes 
Of other years, and other distant lands, 
Where Time, like water o'er a rock of flint, 
Pouring incessantly and by slow degrees, 
Wearing its stern solidity away, — 
Or like the fierce ungovernable rush 
Of the resistless avalanche, — has borne 
The proudest specimens of human skill, 
With their projectors, — both the prince and sage, 
To long and lowly resting in the dust 
That covers them forever ; well they sleep, 
Empire and Emperor in Oblivion's depths. 

And where's the human intellect can tell, 
Where sleep the cities of the years of Eld, — 
Those mighty cities whose proud names we know, — 
Whose memory had laded from the mind, 
As their magnificence from the face of earth, 
But for the tongue of history, which speaks 
From age to age through centuries of time ; 
Telling the rise of nations — and their fall, — 
I low men and empires flourish, — how they fade. 

I left in youth the homestead of my heart, 
That stood in hearing of the city's bells, 
Anear the broad Fatapsco, whose bright waves, 
Flowed on and on in beauty, bearing up 
The laden fleets that o'er her bosom swept. 
'Twas pleasure to my young and bounding heart. 
To sit me down upon sonic grassy slope, 



80 RETROSPECTION. 

Or mount the branches of the towering elm, 
And watch the white sails glide like spirits by. 
There's music in the mild and gentle rush, 
The ship's prow makes in cutting through the wave ; 
The gradual swell of waters, raising high, 
Like mimic billows upon either side, 
Breaking in particles of pearl like foam, 
Splashing and sparkling — tingling as they fall, — 
Subsiding to their level with the tide. 

My play ground on the river's sloping banks, 

And birch canoe I paddled on the tide, 

Fortune took from me, when she marked the path 

For manhood's more responsible career. 

And I remember well the summer morn, 

That robbed me of the sports I loved as life, — 

The morn that robbed me of my boy's glad heart. 

And the high hopes that hung like little stars 

All brilliant in the future. Ah the sports ! 

The heart and hopes of boyhood ! — like the flowers 

That wooed and won them, they have faded all, — 

Faded forever, not a vestige now 

Of all their lustre or their light remains. 

In speechless grief, I left my happy home. 
When friends, to bear me from its pleasant scenes, 
Came with their smiles and promises of wealth, 
I wept, and shunned them, and the river sought, 
To tell my sorrows to the waves I loved. 
I stood awhile upon the verdant slope, 



RETROSPECTION. 81 

And in the bitterness of a breaking heart, 
Gazed on the bounding waters as they swept 
In seeming sympathy with my sad soul. 
Then came the rush of long Imprisoned griefs; 
I felt the burning tear-drop leave my heart, 
And sear its passage to my wo-worn cheek ; 
And had I been alone, I would have sprung 
In utter recklessness, into the boat 
That waited on the waves, and loosed the cords 
That bound her to the smooth and sparkling shore, 
And with her swept, 1 knew not, — cared not where. 
But friends soon gathered round me, and I dashed 
The tell-tale of my feelings from my cheek, 
And wept in silence as I followed them. 

Years passed away, — dark and unhappy years 

Of grief and bitterness they were to me ; 

'Tis true, hopes clustered round them and they shone 

With brilliancy at times, but the dark fiend 

Of disappointment, like a serpent came, 

And trailed a deadly poison o'er them all. 

Like summer flowers beneath the tempest's touch. 

They drooped and died; woes their successors were. 

And they have faithful to their purpose been. 

They're gone and with the dveds of earlier years, 

Slumber in the deep shadows of the past. 

T would bleed my heart afresh, to tell them now : 

Stay memory ! stir them not, I would that they 

Might sleep forever in Oblivion's shade. 



82 RETROSPECTION. 

Again I sought the homestead, and the shore, 
The flowery slope — the trees — the river's bend, 
The thousand things familiar to my youth ; 
As well I might for Babylon or Tyre, 
Improvement's Vandal march, had been o'er them, 
And busy hands had marked and marred them all. 
The elms had fall'n beneath the woodman's stroke; 
The sloping bank was levelled to a plain ; 
Houses were reared upon it, and the crowds 
Were wrestling in the bustling mart for wealth. 
The shore no longer showed its yellow sands — 
The river's bend was shortened; now a wharf 
Straight, high and strong, built on a granite wall, 
With ships of every size moored at its side, ■ 
And railways on its summit, — told how great — 
How sure, had been the enterprise of man. 

I sought the mansion house ; it too was gone, — 
The very eminence on which it stood — 
The time worn relic of a century, 
Alone in all its elegance and pride, 
Was levelled with the vale, and a broad street, 
•With high and spacious stores on either hand, 
Stood frowning on the venerated spot ; 
And eager multitudes were thronging there, 
Contending fiercely for the gilded prize. 
The search for gold, that wasted other lands, 
And stained the pathway of the great with blood, 
Had hurled the homestead from its throne of years, 
And ruined it forever ; thus doth man 



/ 



RETROSPECTION. 83 

Seek the far solitude where nature reigns, 
In silence and in beauty ; and his hands 
Rear high amid the long sequestered wilds, 
A place for traffic and a noisy home. 

Strange feelings came upon me as I thought 

Again o'er seasons of the faded past; — 

The bliss — the beauty — the unhappy blight 

Which chequer life's impetuous career. 

The change that comes o'er all we prize below, 

May be the high rewards of thought and toil, 

But they are like the treasures of the deep — 

The gathered jewels that the sea bird weeps — 

Brilliant and beautiful, — but the price of tears. 

No thing I saw of all I once held dear 

That could be recognized, save the blue waves 

Of the Patapsco, sweeping gladly by, 

Unfettered — free as in their day of prime. 

I gaze upon her bosom, as I gazed in youth, 

On her bright waters sweeping sweetly now — 

As gay — as glorious as in other years. — 

And gazing on her features, I forget 

The griefs that gather at my aching heart. 

And almost feel myself a boy again. 



BEECH HILL 



Beech Hill is the country residence of Robert Gilmor, Esq. situated 
at the western extremity of Saratoga street, Baltimore] an engraving 
of which was presented to the author. 



How many scenes of seasons past, 

The picture doth renew ! 
The flowery scenes of love and truth, 

As vivid and as true 
As when their burning light was on 

My youthful heart and brow: 
And though they sleep with buried years, 

They're memory's treasures now. 

'Tis pleasure still in thought to view 

The landscape's light and shade ; 
And trace the spots where youthful feet, 

In sunnier hours have strayed. 
I trace them here so fresh — so full 

Of happiness and hope ; 
The brightest and the best of life, 

On Beech Hill's flowery slope. 



BEECH HILL. 85 

And many a fond, familiar face, 

In memory's glass I see ; 
Well I recall each feature now, 

So full of childish glee. 
But those that wore them, O what change 

And chance they've had to stem ; 
And Time, that scatters all of earth, 

Well hath he scattered them. 

The hands of men, the face have marred 

Of nature all around ; 
And thou Beech Hill art standing yet, 

A favored spot of ground. 
The hills that once about thee bloomed, 

Are levelled with the plain : 
Their pride has fallen, and they may 

Ne'er bloom like thee again. 

The home of my once happy heart, 

The joys that clustered there : 
<Tis vain that I should ask for them, — 

I think of what they were, 
But have not now the word or wish. 

To call them from the deep — 
The dreary dee}) of nothingness, 

Where low in gloom they sleep. 

I see the wrecks of lovely scenes, 

Strewn o'er the plain and hill: 
All rilled of their early bloom, 

But wearing beauty still. 
8 



86 BEECH HILL. 

And on thy crown, nor spade nor axe. 

A single mark hath made ; 
And careless feet, as erst they walked, 

Still walk amid the shade. 

And he that saved thee, best of friends, 

Had profit been his aim, 
Thy sacrifice had now to him, 

Left nothing but the name. 
Patron of science and of art 

And friend of nature true ; 
Such generous, manly hearts as his, 

Upon this earth are few. 

Long may'st thou live and bloom as now, 

And treasure be to him — 
Above the sordid gains of life, 

By wiser years made dim. 
And other feet may walk o'er thee, 

And hearts be glad as mine ; 
While worshipping the gathered past. 

At memory's sacred shrine. 



Y HEAVE! 



Oh, that I were a sailor boy, — 

How happy should I be ! 
My bounding heart would burst with joy, 

To sail the shoreless sea. 
Some proud exploit I'd soon achieve, 
And long and loud Pd sing — yo heave ! — 
Yo heave, I'd sing, 
A merry king — 
The wild wave sweeping by, 
Would bear my song, 
Its course along, 
To where it meets the sky. 

I'd hie me to the pointing prow, 

To see the eddies play ; 
And hanging from the vessel's bow, 

Sport with the sparkling spray. 
So closely to that bow I'd cleave, 
A happy sailor boy — Y r o heave ! — 
Yo heave I'd sing, 
The sea would fling 



88 YOHEAVE. 

Its foam about my feet ; 

And shrill would float 

The sea-bird's note, 
My loud <Yo heave' to meet. 

Then how I'd watch the white caps curl, 

By thousands coursing on ; 
Like bunches tied of frosted pearl, 

All glittering in the sun. 
The happy sight I'd only leave 
To sing my thrilling song — Yo heave ! — 
Yo heave I'd sing, 
The wind should wing 
My song the white caps o'er, 
Loud on the air 
The sound should wear, 
Mixed with the billows roar. 

The cordage-coil my hempen throne, 

When all were fast asleep, 
I'd mount to watch the mirror'd moon, 

Full forty fathoms deep. 
I'd flourish then my tow-shirt sleeve, 
Flounce on my feet and cry — Yo heave !- 
Yo heave, I'd sing, 
My voice should ring, 
And rouse the sleeping crew ; 
Who with surprise, 
Would rub their eyes, 
And join the 'Yo heave,' too. 



YO HEAVE. 

And when the storm would sweep across, 

Old Ocean's bosom blue, — 
Tear up the foam, the wild waves toss, 

And fright the gallant crew — 
Swinging aloft, the deck I'd leave, 

And o'er the tempest shout — Yo heave !- 
Yo heave I'd sing, 
To th' tackling cling — 
I vow I'd sooner ride 
That reckless storm, 
Than snug and warm, 
Sit by a fire-side. 

I wish I were that sailor boy, 
To climb the lofty mast ; — 
My song Yo heave ! — my light employ 

To tie the tackle fast : 
Among the shrouds I'd sit and weave, 
A net, and sing the while — Yo heave ! — 
Yo heave, I'd sing, 
A merry thing, 
A light and careless boy ; 
To mount the shrouds, 
And count the clouds, 
And sing — 'Yo heave,' my joy. 



8* 



THE MAIDEN'S TEST 



When the lovers of the Hindoo maids proceed on distant and dan- 
gerous voyages, it is their custom to offer up vows for their safe return ; 
and as a test whether their vows are accepted or rejected, they procure 
small lamps and fill them with the cocoa oil ; these they place in an 
earthen dish , adorned with the most beautiful flowers they can select, 
and set afloat upon the river ; if they sink, the omen is disastrous, but if 
they sail shining down the stream, and continue to burn until out of 
sight, the return of the beloved object is considered certain. The Gan- 
ges has often glittered over of an evening, like another heaven with its 
world of stars. — Lalla Rookh. 

The sun adown the shining west, 

Had faded to his evening rest ; 

And valley green, and golden shore, 

The twilight shadows mantled o'er. 

From burning lips while many a prayer 

Ascended on the balmy air, 

The love-lorn maidens left their bowers. 

More thoughtful of their loves than flowers ;— 

With hearts of hope and grief to glide, 

In beauty by the ocean-side. 

The friends of early, — happy youth, 

Who left with them their plighted truth, 

Fair Fortune's smiles, or fame to gain, 

Were out upon the treacherous main ; 

And now with eyes in tears bedewed ! 

And souls of deep solicitude, — 



THE MAIDEN'S TEST. i»l 

With blooming wreaths and lamps they came, 

In tearful hope to test the flame, 

And ask the Spirit of the deep, 

If he had made his wild waves sweep 

In fury o'er the forms they loved; 

Or if their vows his pity moved, 

The anger of the storm to stay, 

And guard them on their dangerous way. 

Amid the throng a weeper stood, 
And gazed upon the boundless flood : 
Her heaving breast and bitter sighs — 
Her pallid cheeks and tearful eyes, 
Bespoke a bitterness of soul, 
Her wasting strength could not control. 
Full many a fair — delightful eve, 
She stood upon the sands to grieve ; 
The lamp she placed upon the sea, 
And watched in tears so wishfully, 
Not long upon the waters blazed, 
But stranded, while on it she gazed. 
She feared to trust the deep again, 
That rolled regardless of her pain : 
Nor cared that in its bosom slept, 
The lover and the lamps she wept. 
With trembling hand her light she laid 
Upon a gentle wave that played 
In softest music at her feet, 
And seemed as though it came to greet. 
And cheer her in that hour of wo, 
That bowed her breaking spirit low. 



92 the maiden's test. 

As on the wave she placed her treasure, 
An anxious smile, far less of pleasure 
Than of a dark foreboding care, 
Was quivering on her lip of prayer. 
Up starting from the shining sands 
She clasped in agony, her hands ; — 
On lamps, like stars that floated by, 
Then on the stars that hung on high, 
Awhile with phrensied eye she gazed, 
And then her snowy arms she raised, 
As if to urge the prayer that passed 
Her heart, perhaps the very last 
She ever meant for him to breathe, 
Who slept the angry surge beneath. 
For she resolved, if that should fail, 
Her lover's marble form to hail, 
Amid the jewels 'neath the wave, 
The chambers of the deep that pave. 
She watched her light as o'er the seas, 
Swept onward by the gentle breeze, 
With steady flame she saw it sail, 
Or nicker in the sterner gale, — 
Until at length — alas the wo ! 
It sunk into the depths below ; 
"Forgive the deed, my love," she cried, 
And plunged into the crystal tide. 
The waves her lovely form closed o'er, 
And slept as they had slept before. 



MY ABSENT SISTER. 



'Tis midnight sister, and the moon 

Is shining on me now, 
As calm — as beautiful — as bright, 

Her beams fall on my brow, 
As when in youth we thought her disk 

Of silver, seemed so cold, 
And wondered if the lovely sphere 

Like us, would e'er grow old. 



Night's quiet empress rides aloft 

The same fair thing of yore, 
A lonely traveller through the skies 

Their brightness to explore, 
And countless years that hurried on, 

In ceaseless, rapid flight, 
She measured out the months and held 

Her empire o'er the night. 

She shines in all the brilliance yet 
We gazed on in our youth ; 

O would in mankind I had found 
But the unchanging truth, 



94 MY ABSENT SISTER. 

Displayed in the eternal change 

Her circuits mark so well, 
And used so oft by erring man 

His fickleness to tell. 

I gaze upon her lovely face, 

As I have gazed on thine ; 
And think of childhood's happy years 

When bliss unmixed was mine. — 
When side by side with thee I ran 

Through pleasure's blooming bowers ; 
And plucked with joy the half ripe fruit, 

And gathered summer flowers- 

And well do I remember now 

The garden by the grove ; 
Where first our young unsinning hearts, 

Each other learned to love ; 
We wandered through the flowery aisles 

And sweet bouquets prepared ; 
No pain or pleasure had the one, 

But what the other shared. 

The buds and blossoms of life's spring 

That faded, ah, how soon ! 
Like way-marks o'er the path we trod, 

Are in abundance strewn. 
And step by step we trace them o'er, 

A rich and varied train ; 
They're memory's gathered treasures now, 

And ever must remain. 



MY ABSENT SISTER. 96 

Those years have fled, those happy years 

Of truth and guileless love ; 
Their zephyrs waft o'er other heads, — 

Their blessings are inwove 
With other hearts, that very soon, 

From them must hasten on, 
To wrestle with a reckless world, 

As mine has often done. 

Stern memory is the mirror now, 

In which we see the past ; — 
It shows us scenes of brilliancy, 

Along our pathway cast; — 
And how r the heart is wont to turn 

To live again in thought. 
Those unsophistocated hours, 

With bliss and beauty fraught. 

How oft at eventide, we've stood 

On Susquehannah's shore ; 
And watched the waters dash away, 

And listened to their roar I 
Hungry we've sought old Terra's hut, 

And eat her homely bread. ; 
Poor Terra ! she that fed us then, 

Is sleeping with the dead. 

With all my boyish eagerness, 

And feelings of the child : 
I sought the negro's clay-built hut. 

Beside the waters wild. 



96 MY ABSENT SISTER. 

The same tall trees were standing there, 

As lovely and as green ; 
But Terra's grave alone was left, 

To tell that she had been. 

And so 'twill be with us ere long, 

How soon may not be told ; 
The gloom of death must be our lot — 

The coffin and the mould. 
Two mounds, — alas how far apart ! 

Our wasting forms must hide ; 
The slab, inscribed, alone may tell 

That we have lived and died. 

O seldom we had parted from 

Our vine-encircled home ; 
Till Fortune called us far apart, 

O'er checkered paths to roam. 
Since then, we've journeyed o'er the waves 

And through the deserts drear ; 
And mountains wild between us now, 

Their lofty summits rear. 

Now we have passed to sterner years, 

The iron hand of Care, 
Hath often touched our aching heads, 

And left his impress there, 
We see it in the silver lock, 

And in the failing eye, 
Which steal upon us as our years 

Go half unnoticed by. 



THE NIGHT OF DEATH. 97 

Soon our decaying forms, must feel 

The canker and the rust ; 
And other hands prepare them for 

Their dwelling in the dust. 
And when in peace they sweetly sleep 

'Neath the entombing sod ; 
O may our happy spirits find 

A residence with God. 



THE NIGHT OF DEATH 



There's beauty in the hues that paint 

The sunset skies ; 
The beauty fades and soon grow faint 

The brilliant dyes. 

Night from her dim and dusky throne 

Her gloom doth shed : 
And darkness seems o'er all the zone 

A mantle spread. 

So, when the lights of life may fade, 

And all that's bright ; 
We shall repose amid the shade 

Of Death's dark night. 



GOD WALKS IN JUDGMENT 



God walks in judgment through the burning halls 
Of ever during beauty, where the light 
Of his illustrious countenance shone forth 
In uncreated lustre, ere the skies 
Had rolled like vapour from beneath his feet, 
And spread in azure brilliance o'er the worlds 
That swim in concert, through the depths of heaven. 
The light is his pavilion ; as he treads 
In awful majesty, the jewelled aisles 
That sparkle in his presence, seraphs lift 
Their glowing pinions and their faces veil ; — 
Awe-struck, — in admiration mute they stand, 
Nor touch a harp, nor strike a string of joy, 
Till he hath passed before their glittering ranks ; 
The signal note from some Archangel high, 
The countless millions wait, — and as it wafts 
In dulcet sweetness on the playful winds, 
The pealing anthems of their mighty praise, 
Sweep in full strains of purest melody, 
And fill eternal courts with loftiest song. 
Rebellious angels in his breath of flame, 
Read the dread condemnation of their guilt, 
And o'er the golden battlements of heaven, 
pall to the shades of never ending gloom. 



GOD WALKS IN JUDGMENT. 99 

God walks in judgment 'mid the starry hosts, 
Thai burn beneath the canopy of night, 
While in their silent eloquence they speak. 
His wondrous wisdom and unchanging love. 
From orb to orb with certain step he mov^a, 
Observant of the systems and their laws. 
Thai roll obedient to his high command. 
And hymn his hallowed worship as they shine. 
The star that dares to disobey his will, 
Hurled from her orbit by his arm of power, 
Blushes a moment 'mid her sister spheres, 
And hastens from their fellowship : she falls. 
And fades forever in immensity. 

God walks in judgment on the misty folds 

( tf terror breathing tempests; at his nod. 

The lightnings fierce in fearful beauty spring 

And pass in swift and fitful flashes through 

The cloudy battlements that frown aloft, 

Like moving rocks of adamantine strength. 

He speaks, — and answering thunders madly leap 

J n peals terrific from the frowning ports 

That front the floating fortress as it speeds 

In wild sublimity upon the winds. 

The furious bolt — his messenger of wrath. 

Attends his bidding and assumes its fires, 

Then hastes its fierce commission to fulfil. 

God walks in judgment o'er the face of earth ; 
In omnipresent dignity, he treads 



100 GOD WALKS IN JUDGMENT. 

The variegated surface ; fertile soil, 

And arid sands, alike his coming hail, 

And tremble 'neath his footsteps ; his approach, 

All nature feels, and every blade of grass, 

And every lofty tree, or quivering greets, — 

His awful presence on the gentle breeze, 

Or waives his welcome in the sweeping blast. 

The mountain rock that 'mid the fastness reigns 

In solitary grandeur, and hath stood 

For centuries, the wasting tooth of Time, — 

There bathing its tall summit in the sun, 

In proud defiance of the tempest's power, 

That spends itself upon the slopes below 7 , — 

Yields in submission to his mighty tread, 

And wears his foot-prints as inseared by fire, 

Infixed forever on his granite crown. 

God walks in judgment through the multitudes 

That throng the bustling city; he beholds 

The secret sin — the nursling of the heart, 

Which neither word nor deed may bring to light, 

And writes its condemnation with the crime, 

That stalks in blood before the gaze of men. 

The busy thousands in their daily walks, 

Pass in his presence like a rapid stream ; 

And in their nightly rest, when all is still, 

And darkness, like a veil enwraps the world, 

He looks upon the sleepers as they lie, 

Like breathing nations in the robes of death. 

He knows the home where righteousness doth dwell, 



GOD WALKS IN JUDGMENT. 101 

And visits it in mercy and in peace ; — 

He knows the gilded hiding place of sin, 

And strikes the slumbering rebel on his coueh, 

Daylight and darkness, are the same to him ; 

High hopes of glorious purpose, and the gloom 

Of fevered disappointment, which in turn 

Inflam6 the brain and agitate the heart, 

Are but as flitting shadows in his sight, 

Nor for a moment stay his stern designs. 

The fierce tornado waits upon his word, 

And at his touch, the crumbling earth gives way, 

Engulfing thousands in its burning depths. 

God walks in judgment on the ocean's crown; — 
In the subduing hour of nature's peace, 
When the wild winds are sleeping and the waves 
Repose in tranquil beauty 'neath his feet, 
He moves in silence o'er the silvery sea, 
And in the depths of crystal far below 
Mirrors his Majesty ; the gorgeous dyes 
That float serenely on the Bather's breast 
Shadow their splendours in the shining wave. 
And the rich urn of glory, on the day 
That pours its radiance in perpetual streams, — 
Shedding in brilliant and expanding flame, 
The beaming lustre of its endless fires, 
O'er worlds unnumbered in the realms of space, — 
Throws floods of blazonry throughout the halls 
That hide their jewelled glories in the deep. 
And when upon the waters, he beholds 
9* 



102 GOD WALKS IN JUDGMENT. 

In the pursuits and purposes of men, 
Deeds of impiety that offend his sight, 
His rising anger wakes the tempest's wrath, 
And furious whirlwinds at his summons spring, 
And walk before him in their fearful strength. 
Affrighted billows own his goings forth, 
And navies that the wealth of nations bear, 
Strand in his presence and his might confess. 

God ivalks in judgment on the winds of heaven ; 
He works his constant pleasure in the breeze, 
That wafts the perfume of the summer flowers 
Or bears the burning pestilence ; he wills, 
And healthful zephyrs hide their balmy wings ; 
Charged with the dread malaria, they droop 
In death-like sultriness, and in the calm, 
That settles like the stillness of the grave, 
Beneath the scorching sun, — the tribes of men, 
Beasts, birds and flowers find their certain doom. 

He walks in judgment as he e'er hath walked, 
Since from the wild chaotic mass, he spoke 
Worlds into being ; and enrobed in power, 
His goings forth shall be on every breeze. 
In mystery and terror he shall tread 
On every gentle wind, and fearful blast, 
Till from the jewelled caverns of the sea, 
And from the dust, the dead shall rise, 
Summoned by the dread Archangel's trump, 
To meet with living millions in the air, 



time. in:* 

Before his blazing throne ; and when his voice, 
Shall break the silence of that awful hour, 
To tell the doom of empires, men shall see, 
And angels through the halls of light proclaim, 
In notes of endless joy, the rising morn, 
Of his eternal triumph. 



TIME. 

Time is like a mighty river, 
Rolling to an ocean wide ; 

Raging, restless to deliver 

There, the storms that o'er it ride. 

Foams it like some billowed ocean, 
Dashing up its smoking spray ; 

Hearing in its wild commotion, 
All the pride of earth away. 



THE PAST — THE PRESENT — AND 
THE FUTURE. 



Time is a sea and life glides o'er it, 

Heedless of the surges past ; 
Still rolling on to those before it, 

Till it leaves thein all at last. 
It minds not, though the billow sweeping, 

Swells on high its foamy crest ; 
Or if the lightest wave comes creeping 

Softly o'er the ocean's breast. 

The restless waters ever forcing, 

Toss on high the sparkling spray ; 
Or o'er the smooth sea's bosom coursing, 

Onward, onward, hold their way. 
Behind is one vast waste of ocean, 

Unexplored is all before ; 
And the waves with ceaseless motion, 

Seek some dark and distant shore. 

Life through change and chance forever, 

Rises with the tide and falls ; 
In calm and tempest resting never, 

Hast'ning to eternal halls. 



THE PAST THE PRESENT THE FUTURE. 105 

Like the rill from pebbles gushing, 

Slowly it begins to stray ; 
Then the mighty torrent rushing, — 

Dashing to the sea away. 

Infancy with pleasant prattle, 

Dancing in its mother's arms; 
Flings aside its bells and rattle, 

Seeks its joy in other charms. 
A thousand things for its amusing, 

Strew the nursery's painted floor ; 
The reckless child the whole refusing, 

Turns and cries, and calls for more. 

Childhood passes, — youth succeeding, 

Hills of future bliss to climb: 
One only thing his course impeding, — 

'Tis the tardiness of time. 
The hours of youth are light and pleasant 

While he apes his after years ; 
Put chained a moment to the present, 

Heart and eyes are filled with tears. 

Then manhood comes, — he stops to wonder, 

Dark the future grows, and dim; 
He turns upon the past to ponder , 

Colder is the world to him. 
Where's the light of joyous childhood ? 

Where's its gay and gilded flame I — 
The sun that rose upon youth's wildwood 

Pointing to his future fame I 



106 BRUTUS. 

Alas the future ! childhood's heaven, 

Shining through youth's chainless scope, 
Has come — is past — his thoughts are driven 

Back upon his boyhood's hope. 
From cold realities then shrinking, 

Future seems a dreary waste ; 
He turns and finds his heav'n in thinking 

O'er again, the heedless past. 

Thus like the wave is life careering, 

Over Time's resistless sea ; 
In storm and calm alike 'tis wearing 

Onward to eternity. 
Life's billows soon may cease their sweeping. 

Storm and tempest soon be o'er, 
And with the wave may life be sleeping 

Safe on the eternal shore. 



BRUTUS 



Eternal honor to the patriot heart, 

Whose iron sternness may discern between 
Kindred and country, 'tis his noble part 

To live in memory forever green. 

Thrice honored Brutus whose undying fame, 
The deeds of more than human valor won ; 

For Rome, he dared a never dying shame — 
To save his country, sacrificed his son. 



LOVE'S APPEAL. 



A mother with the rod in hand. 

Stood over her offending child : 
In the stern aspect of command, 

And manner resolute and wild. 
She bade the little sinner ask 

Forgiveness of the guilty deed : 
It scorned obedience to the task, 

And dared the high uplifted reed. 

Affection moved the mother's soul. 

Her better sympathies were stirred ; 
The heart that dared her stern control. 

Was humbled by a single word. 
From her sad heart, the warm tears gushed- 

Her rising grief she could not stay : 
Into her arms the victim rushed. 

And wept its stubbornness away. 

The terrors of Mount Sinai came. 
In thunder on the sinner's ear : 
He saw the lightnings fearful flame, 

And felt as though his doom was near. 



108 love's appeal. 

With brow nerved for resistance sore, 

And anger flashing in his eye ; 
He turned away and madly swore, 

To dare God's dreadful wrath and die. 

A voice from Calvary arose, 

It reached the sinner where he stood ; 
He turned and saw the man of woes, 

Extended on his Cross of blood. 
He saw the wild and clamorous crowd, 

Swift moving in their madness there ; — 
Their voices heard in tumult loud, 

That swept in fury on the air. 

There stood the Roman and the Jew, 

Covered in mail, with lance and spear ; 
Each to his impious purpose true, 

And with the hellish jest and sneer, 
Piercing in sport the pallid form, 

Of the expiring Son of God, 
While from his heart, life's current warm, 

Streamed o'er his limbs and stained the sod. 

The heart that in its stubborn hour, 

Mount Sinai's terrors failed to move; 
Could not, with all its boasted power 

Resist the meek appeal of love. 
The fount was ruptured, streaming tears, 

Soon told how deep his guilt he felt ; 
The wayward breast that knew no fears, 

Had feelings Love alone could melt. 



THE MOUNT OF FAITH. 



When Moses on Mount Nebo stood, 
And gazed upon the promised land ; — 

Divided only by the flood 

Of Jordan, from the pilgrim band — 

He saw the fair and flowery hills, 
That bathed their tops in living light : 

While on their sides the silver rills, 
Were sparkling in his sight. 

He viewed with joy the blest abode 
Of Israel's worn and weary race : 

The land of refuge, reared by God, 
For Abram's sons a resting place. 

On blooming field and lofty tree, 
He gazed until his sight grew dim ; 

He knew 'twas writ in God's decree. 
That land was not for him. 

The flashing stream that foamed ahead. 

And hurried darker floods to meet : 
On Inspiration's page he read. 

Should never wet his hallowed feet. 



10 



110 THE MOUNT OF FAITH. 

Another Canaan high, he viewed, 

Above the home for Israel blest; — 
Beyond a deeper Jordan stood, 
The land of endless rest. 

Bright angel armies on the air, 
He saw in fadeless beauty rise, — 

And hosts redeemed were swimming there, 
In joy amid the flaming skies. 

'Mid visions of his pleasant dream, 
Passed from his lips the prophet's breath ; 

'Twas done ! the only Jordan stream 
O'er which he crossed — was death. 

There is a mountain broad and high, 
Where Israel and the world may stand, 

With brimming heart and anxious eye, 
And gaze upon a promised land. — 

A land of beauty, brighter far, 

Than that on which the prophet gazed ; 

Though o'er its bosom many a star, 
In bright effulgence blazed. 

That mount is Faith, a Nebo fair, 
Which cloud nor storm may ever gloom,- 

Which doth eternal sunlight wear, 
And robes of rich perennial bloom. 

And from its summit fields are seen, 
With living waters channelled o'er, — 

Sweet fields, forever fresh and green, 
On heavenly Canaan's shore. 



THE MOUNT OF FAITH. Ill 

Encircled there by fadeless flowers, 
The City shows her gates of gold — 

Her jasper walls and glorious towers, 
In light and brilliancy untold. 

There hosts redeemed, are winging free, 
The Lamb is in the midst of them, 

Who i^ave his life that they might see, 
The new Jerusalem. 

A narrow stream alone divides 

The mount from those delightful plains, 

The Jordan dark, of death, that hides 
The land where endless summer reigns 

From those who hope to wander there, 
And while eternity endures, 

Enjoy the fruits and flowers so fair. 
Of the eternal shores. 

As wearied mortals climb the height, 
And to the narrow stream draw near, 

More glorious to the wondering sight, 
The beauties of the land appear. 

O ! when the waves our feet come nigh, 
.May we enjoy the sight sublime ; 

Like Moses on the mountain die, 
And gain the blessed clime. 



NIAGARA. 



Roll on resistless flood ; in mystery roll 
The restless waters from thy lofty brow ; 
No earthly arm the billows may control 
That play upon thy summit ; there they bow, 
And battle with the winds that through them plow, 
Till from thy mountain forehead, down they pour ; 
And as in centuries past, so they are now, 
The firm base shaking of thy rocky shore, 
And drowning echo in the eternal roar ; 
Nor may the tempest shout as loud as thou. 

Roll everlasting torrent ; on thy front 

The Almighty's signet rests ; the brilliant bow 

Belts thy broad bosom yet, as it was wont 

To arch it o'er a thousand years ago ; — 

Girding the waves to watch them as they flow, 

And gathering from the spray, in glorious thrall, 

The rays prismatic as they richly glow, 

Trembling amid the fires that on them fall, 

In fadeless beauty from the sunlit hall, 

Where floods of light their deathless radiance throw. 



NIAGARA. 113 

Up from thy emerald shores in beauty still, 
A bright memorial of the deed, it springs, 
That buried guilty nations at the will 
Of Him who rides upon the tempest's wings ; — 
Dread warnings from the mighty past it brings, 
And gazing on its splendors, man may feel 
The inspiration which around him flings 
The past and future ; and the high appeal 
Of Revelation, on his heart may steal, 
While to the blessed bow his vision clings. 

Thou mightiest of waters ; God hath stood 
Thee, a stern sentinel on the brow of time, 
That as the years, with thy eternal flood, 
Pass swiftly onward to the unknown clime, 
Thou mightst forever, in thy thunder chime, 
Peal their tremendous requiem ; years have rolled 
On from the dark and unexplored abyme, 
Like thee for centuries; the ages told, 
Upon eternal pages are enrolled 
With all their deeds of worthiness and crime. 

Amid thy restless waters ; many a star. 
Hath gazed upon its shadow, and the blue — 
The brilliant heaven, hath in thy depths afar, 
Bathed its bright countenance and shone anew. 
Thou wearest in thy billows every hue, 
The changing aether wears; clouds flit o'er thee, 
Throwing the gloom or glory now they threw, 
When in their anger fierce, or in their glee, 
10* 



114 



NIAGARA. 



Jn ages of the past, as fresh as free. 

Above thy crown, upon the winds they flew. 

The lovely moon hath kissed thee : queen of night, 
She rose on dark Ontario, ere day was gone ; 
And from her throne of silver, threw her light 
Through twilight shadows, on thy waters dun ; 
A snow}^ radiance as her course she run, 
Mantled the shores where rippling eddies play, 
Like laughing children in the evening's sun, 
Chasing each other in the mimic fray; 
Pale traveller ! she gazed as glad as they, 
And moved in peace her lonely journey on. 

The sun hath glassed his glories on thy head. 
And clad it like his heavens, in robes of gold; 
Among thy hoary locks his beams were shed, 
Eternal youth entwining with each fold ; — 
With all thy years upon thee, as of old 
Thou yet art glowing; neither age nor time, 
Nor the ten thousand changes time has told, 
Hath taken from thy brow its morning prime ; 
Thy hoary honors are thy crown sublime, 
And all thy early freshness thou dost hold. 

Winds claim thy wild companionship, and on 
Thy surface sport; they with thy dark green waves, 
Wrestle but for a moment and are gone. 
The tempest walks thy waters, when it raves, 



NIAGARA. 115 

They toss in tumult and expose the caves, 
Which in the hour of peace beneath them hide : 
And winds like human passions, are the slaves 
Of impulse, dashing in their strength and pride ; 
And on,in their destructive madness ride, 
Regardless that they sweep o'er men or graves. 

Storms tremble 'mid thy terrors ; lightnings throw 
Their lurid fires from cloud to cloud on high ; 
Deep in thy waves the vivid shadows glow, 
Fierce as the flames athwart the angry sky, 
That flash and in majestic grandeur fly ; 
T T pon thy lofty forehead thunders break, 
And dreadful whirlwinds dash their dangers by; 
But Nature's war, thy purpose cannot shake, 
The deep Inundations of the earth must quake, 
Before thy mountain rocks in ruin lie. 

Roll on unrivalled queen of rivers, crowned 

By heaven's immortal King; thy coronal 

The raws that burn his glorious throne around, 

And on thy glowing summit richly fall; 

Thy girdle is the light : its beams enthrall 

The throne oi' pearl, reared on the mount of snow . 

That foams above thine own eternal wall 

Of rushing waters, where earth's ocean all 

Have trembled into drops and plunged below. 

Forever rolling through the rocky hall. 



THE STARS 



The stars — the stars., the lovely stars ! 

How brilliantly they shine ? 
From the blue heaven, like angel eyes, 

They look in light divine. 
They are the burning witnesses — 

The handy- works of Him 
Who hung them out like glory-lamps, 

Through boundless space to swim. 

The stars — the stars, the little stars ! 

How royally they rise ? 
Gems on the azure arch of night, 

They decorate the skies. 
They swim in sweet companionship, 

Yon sea of boundless blue; 
Though they succeed each setting sun, 

They seem forever new. 

The stars — the stars, the glittering stars ! 

Lights of yon arch they burn : 
Swinging aloft their rays illume, 

Each other as thev turn. 



THE STARS. 117 

Beams from the far revolving suns. 

Are on the oceans cast, 
That, lay along their sparkling fronts, 

Like molten mirrors vast. 

The stars — the stars, the twinkling stars ! 

Like fire-fly lights they glow ; 
Gleaming at fitful intervals, 

On the busy world below. 
Bright armies of the firmament. 

They have their homes on high ; 
And sweep in beauty and in joy, 

Upon the jewelled sky. 

The stars — the stars, the blooming stars ! 

Like little maidens fair ; 
Ye wander out at eventide, 

To feel the freshning air. 
And there ye have been walking forth, 

In primal pride since ye 
First sang creation's serenade, 

In silent minstrelsy. 

The stars — the stars, the princely stars ; 

How slyly do ye gaze 
Upon the throngs that walk at night, 

Beneath the silver rays — 
That glitter from the mirror floods, 

All floating high and free, 
Like moonbeams thrown through twilight shades 

Upon a rulHed sea. 



118 JOY. 

The stars — the stars, the tiny stars ! 

How laughingly ye move 
Above the pairs that wander out, 

To talk of you and love ? 
Ten thousand vows of constancy, 

Have by your light been made, 
And broken e're the morning's blaze 

Has thrown ye in the shade. 

The stars — the stars, the silvery stars ! 

Bright images of heaven ; 
To point us to a better world, 

Your galaxies were given. 
O may we like the pearly throngs 

That beautify the night, 
Pass in unbroken brotherhood, 

To homes of fadeless lii?ht. 



JOY. 

Joy comes to man like some lone stranger, 
Turns in and tarries for the night ; 

And like a restless, homeless ranger, 
Passes with the morning's light. 



S P R I N G . 



Gently comes the sunny Spring, 

From yonder glowing sky : 
There's beauty in her balmy wing, 

And brilliance in her eye. 
The mountains meet her., and the vales, 
Present their cheeks to her soft gales, 

And kiss her as she comes : 
The streams are starting forth in glee, 
And bounding o'er the pebbles free, 

To seek their distant homes. 

The birds forget their winter sleep, 

To sport among the trees : 
From bough to bough in joy they leap, 

Or play upon the breeze. 
Sweet music moves upon the air. 
She meets her sister fragrance there. 

And hand in hand they glide — 
And make the scented valleys ring 
With notes of gladness. O that Spring 

Forever might abide ! 



TO A MUSQUETO. 



Begone you starveling ill-starred creature, 
So lank of limb and gaunt of feature, 
You luckless, witless, foolish thing ! 
How dare you enter one's upstairs, 
And get upon his ears to sing ? 
And whether he's at books or prayers, 
You come with your eternal song 
Whu-u-u-whut, and who can read, 
Or pray with any kind of speed ? 
You spider-legged imp! go long ! 

And what care you if church or chamber, 
So quick into it you may clamber, 
You poor misshapen low-bred bug ? 
And on the anxious parson's nose 
You had as soon begin to tug, 
As other body's who might doze, 
While you his arteries should pierce ; 
As reckless of your bloody work. 
As you might be of Jew or Turk, 
In search of gold and blood as fierce. 



TO A MUSQUETO. 121 

You've no regard for friend or stranger, 
And think yourself as free from danger 
Upon his cheek, as on his toe ; 
And you'll be at as hearty meal 
The moment he may aim a blow. 
As though the sufferer could not feel, 
Nor miss the claret you mighl draw. — 
To budge, — you do not seem to choose, 
As life nor limb you had to lose ; 
Your only thought is of your craw. 

You tap the saint as well as sinner, 
And good or bad — its for your dinner : 
Their carcasses seem all the same, 
And you are do philosopher, 
To cant and quibble o'er a name, 
And grumble when a word you hear 
Expressed a little out of rule. 
In this the world you imitate, — 
You rob both rich and desolate, 
Nor for the wi.se forsake the fool. 

You're like a thief — the blaze of morning, 
Is to you both, a fearful warning : 
You scamper when it doth appear, 
Nor turn to crive a last adieu, 

o 

To him who bled beneath your spear, 
And a few curses has for you ; 
You worse than heartless cannibal 
Who bled him — feasted on his blood, 
11 



122 TO A MUSQUETO. 

Aye — revelled in the crimson flood, 
Then in the wound let poison fall. 

He wakes ; — in air he sees you dangling, 
As though your legs you were untangling ; 
Could he but lay his hands upon 
Your bloated body, not the writ 
Of Habeas Corpus newly won, 
Would save your shining hide a whit ; 
He sees that you can hardly fly, 
And watches as you swagger o'er, 
Stuffed like a pudding with his gore, 
Then rubs the sting you gave his eye. 

To rhyme much more, its not for me to 

About your manners, friend Musqueto. 

I've had about as much to do 

With you and yours, as I could wish ; 

And now I must insist that you 

Will go elsewhere and seek a dish ; 

For past misdoings, no amends, 

Forever will I ask of thee, 

But if again you visit me, 

I hope you'll not invite your friends. 



THE ACHING TOOTH. 



Why art thou so rebellious, raging tooth ? 

Why break the peace that pleasantly prevailed, 

And raised such warfare in thy warm abode ? 

There's room enough far thee and chance as fair, 

As any of thy fellows may possess. 

And there you all might dwell, a happy band 

In the firm brotherhood that Nature formed, 

When she permitted you to take the place 

Of that confederacy, which she had tried, 

And proved too weak to stand the powerful test, 

Of spreading bone and sinew ; — on the soil 

Where reigned and ruled the Aborigines 

That were your predecessors, — you have power 

To cluster undisturbed; succeeding foes 

May never push you from your gifted rights. 

You are a compact — leagued for life and death ! 

There you should stand in undivided strength, 

And hail the friendly visitant that comes 

To nourish and sustain you, and repel 

With giant energy, the foreign foe 

That dares intrude on your domestic peace. 



124 THE ACHING TOOTH. 

What cause have you for quarrel in your ranks ? 

What party feuds to rouse you up for fight ? 

You have no Clay among you, — though too soon — 

Too soon alas ! you may be in the dust ! 

And you've no Webster, though perhaps the web 

Of dark oblivion over you may stir, 

Ere many years of aching you may know. 

No Benton asks your favor, yet it seems 

As some of you were bent on raising up 

In wild conspiracy, to make Expunge 

The watchword, — and the hue and cry to raise 

Of drawing, — not lines of black with pen and ink, 

But claret with the forceps and the key. 

And why should Cuspidatus ask a right, 
Which to Incisore, he'd refuse to grant ? 
Or why Incisore, seek a place of power, 
To which his friend Molare might not aspire ? 
'Tis vain to talk of preferment or place, 
In a society so firmly bound, 
And in such close connection — one and all 
Should spurn the Nullifier's hated cause, 
And stick to Union to the very last. 

And what are names, or offices to you ? 
Or what care you for principles or laws, 
Save those which Nature in her wisdom gives 
To regulate her household ! — they belong 
As well to you, as to unnumbered throngs 
That pass through being's changes to decay. 



THE ACHING TOOTH. 125 

The badge of honor that the Whig may wear, 
Or title that the Democrat may boast, 
Hath no high preference for you to claim. 
You have no principle for which to fight, 
As ever changing politicians have, 
Who madly sacrifice a thousand times, 
In saving once from foul pollution's touch, 
The principle they quarrel to sustain. 

Your only dread need be the heartless quack, 
Who like a greedy vampyre, seeks to draw 
Blood from your mangled socket, and to thrust 
His plundering talons in your owner's purse; 
Or it may be perchance, that he may drive 
A plug of composition through your crown, 
Or closely pack his tin deep in your heart, 
And for the wretched deed, demand his price, 
And nothing less than gold for either suits. 

Now, seeing these are truths that I have sung,— 

A few of multitudes that might be told, 

Why may you not all live in peace and love, 

And help each other in your daily toil ' 

You'd better do it, and ye aching one, 

I warn ye once more — stop your raging now! 

Or by your hopes of life I do declare 

That I shall turn against ye, and raise up 

With all my might, the cry Expunge ! Expunge ! 



11* 



DEATH MAY WREATHE THE CUP 
TO-MORROW. 

AIR THE ANACREONTIC. 

Touch not to-night the sparkling bowl ! 

Its curse, full many a heart is breaking ; 
And chains for many a free-born soul, 
The heartless Hydra now is making. 
Fill no goblet to the brim, 
Beneath the draught are dregs of sorrow, 
Nor pass the night 
In wild delight, 
For Care will bring her clouds to-morrow. 

Up from that gay and gilded seat, 

That smiles before the shining glasses, 
From which the sparkling flash of wit, 
The brilliance of the wine surpasses ! 
Ask not for the lively song, 
Amid the guilty glee to cheer thee ; 
For while the strain, 
Delights the brain, 
Infernal spirits may be near thee. 



DEATH MAY WREATHE THE CUP TO-MORROW. 127 

►Spurn that cup of rosy wine, 

Though to the brim 'tis brightly blushing ! 
Old Bacchus pressed it from the vine, 

And drank "To Death," while it was gushing. 
Dash the deceitful draught away, 
Which for awhile the weak heart gladdens, 
For midnight's dream, 
Doth horror seem, 
To him whose brain the liquor maddens. 

Sickness lingers round its rim, 

Death is lurking deeper in it, — 
Both are grasping now for him 

Who stakes his deathless soul to win it. 
One drink the warmest heart may chill, 
V>w in its love and joy delighting; 
The cup may wear 
A joyous air, 
But friendship sinks beneath its blighting. 

Then fill not high the mantling bowl, 

Its curse lull many a heart is breaking; 
And that curse will cloud the soul, 
Too constant of the wine partaking. 
Fill no gublet to the brim, 
Beneath the draught are dregs of sorrow, 
And though delight, 
Should gild the night, 
Stern death may wreathe the cup to-morrow. 



A NAME 



Why doth yon anxious student toil 

Beside his nickering light, 
So oft, till Time rings in his ears 

The solemn noon of night. 
With constant, persevering care, 

And ever watchful mind, 
He scans the philosophic page 

Its hidden truths to find. 

And why ascends the rostrum's height, 

With firm, unfaltering tread, 
The man of proud commanding form, 

In Science deeply read 1 
The thoughts that course his studious brain, 

Have channelled cheek and brow ; 
They are in safe memorial stored, 

His mental treasures now. 

The crowds assembled at his feet, 

In silent order stand, 
Attentive to his pleasant speech, 

They wait his high command. — 



A NAME. 129 

They list his fervid eloquence, 

And high their voices raise, 
Answering his ready bursts of thought 

With fitful shouts of praise. 

How like a sea-bird moves yon ship 

Upon the dark blue sea ? 
A nation's banner from her prow, 

Is waving gallantly. 
A nation's honor, is her freight, 

And in a nation's name, 
She carries to a distant port, 

Her Admiralty's fame. 

Upon yon held, her robes of green, 

Hath bounteous Nature spread ; 
And on the flowery vesture now, 

Contending armies tread, 
A thousand falchions flaming there, 

Like lightning furies Hash: 
Stars of the awful tempest — on 

In terrors fierce, they dash. 

The summer leaves and flowers are crushed 

'Neath bodies of the slain : 
And long will that ensanguined field 

Wear on its front, the stain 
Of blood, — that kingly arrogance, 

In heated passion Eihed; — 
Long may the feuda of nations mourn 

Their millions of the dead. 



130 LOVE. 

Above the reeking plain of war 

Glittering on thrones of gold ; 
The king of either army sits, 

To view his warriors bold, — 
Who for the meed of high renown, 

Fight with unflinching nerve- 
Renown — that gilds the chains they wear, 

And sceptre that they serve. 

Thus millions of the busy world, 

With one intent and aim, 
Seek with their energy and might, 

That gilded thing — a name. 
But ah ! how few amid the throngs 

O'er life's arena driven, 
Who seek in deeds of righteousness, 

A name for endless Heaven. 



LOVE. 

Love is like a jug of ale, 
Or bottle of Poughkeepsie porter ; 

While you keep the cork in, 'twill 
Be cool as any cool spring water ; — 

But draw the cork, and wo betide 

The wight who waits the jug beside. 



TO A PLAYFUL BOY. 



I love to look upon thy face. 

Thou careless boy ; 
The mimic oi' the man to trace. 

And read thy joy. 

Thy heart hath never known a blight, 

Nor care thy brow : 
But thou in pleasure's sunny light. 

Art laughing now. 

Thou dost not heed the flight of time. 

Nor ask its stay ; 
The days — the hours are but the chime 

Of holiday. 

Thy life is but a lively race, 

'Neath a clear sky ; 
Thy love, thy live-long day to chase 

The butterfly. 

Many like thee, thou beauteous one, 

In life's young hours ; 
After the gossamer have run 

O'er summer flowers. 



132 TO A PLAYFUL BOY. 

But summer could not always last, 

Cold winter came ; 
And they, with care around them cast, 

Were not the same. 

Years are before thee, boy — their light, 

Awaits thy tread ; 
And they have shadows, dark as night, 

For thy young head. 

With smiles, the world doth mingle tears, 

And know dear child ; 
That sorrows with increasing years, 

Come fast and wild. 

I would that I might roses strew 

Along thy way ; 
That might unfading be, and true 

For manhood's day, 

But woes like weeds o'er all life's path 

Spontaneous spring, 
There's not a flow'r that blooms, but hath 

Its thorn to sting. 

O then in God's high kingdom, boy, 

Seek treasures fair ; 
And thou may'st bloom in light and joy, 

Forever there. 



THE HARPERS DYING STRAINS 



"The old man hung over his harp, which seemed to be as time- 
worn as himself; thoughtful and sad, he appeared to drink into his very 
soul the music it had sung in years gone by." 



Old time-worn harp, how sweetly swells 

Thy wild — wild strain ? 
Of other days and hopes it tells ; 

My heart would drain 
Its last red drop ere thy low peal, 
Should tell the cold world how I feel, — 
How pains in lightning pulses steal 

Through every vein. 

Speak but again ; this fevered brow 

The time will keep 
To every note thou sweepest now ; 

Its throbbings deep 
So move my restless — reeling brain. 
It never may be still again. 
But roll on in continual pain : 

I cannot weep. 
12 



134 the harper's dying strains. 

Sing of the past, sweet harp — I love 

The hallowed past, — 
That restless deep, whose mysteries move 

In visions fast, 
Amid the stern unyielding tide 
Where mirrored memories side by side, 
In living beauty ever glide, 

By gloom o'ercast. 

The loved of youth ! harp, where are they ? 

Answer thou me ! 
Speak, if indeed the bright array 

May throng on thee. 
Soft — softly, let the music play, 
From other years the wild tones stray, 
The loved — the lost are far away ; 

So let it be. 

And manhood's friendships — proud and high ; 

Speak thou of these ; 
Tell where the tall — the noble lie, 

If in the seas 
On sapphire pillows, they repose, 
Or, where the weeping grave-moss grows, 
While o'er their rest at evening blows, 

The whispering breeze. 

O many a hope that richly shone 

Upon the sky, 
In those bright years, have blushed and flown 

Forever by. 



THE HARPER'S DYING STRAINS. 1 .'to 

They were like early stars that sped 
Their passage up the steep and fled ; 
In dust and silence, with the dead, 
Calmly they lie. 

Disturb them not, their lowly sleep 

So sacred is, 
That over them, pure angels keep 

Vigils of bliss; 
And guard them in their llowery home, 
So sweetly resting : they may roam 
Care-worn no mure, 'till J Ik shall come 

Who claims them Ins. 

Life wanes apace, the day is near, 

When I may sleep; 
And who shall call my memory dear? 

And who shall weep ' 
When I am laid, my harp beside, 
Where dust and darkness e'er abide, 
And dreariness and shadows hide 

The charnel deep. 

Then let me fall ; — harp strike once more 

Thy failing string, 
Stir up the sleeping deeds of yore, — 

l'p, let them wing : 
Lei head and heart sink down to rest, 
'Mid scenes their early hopes that blest! 
'Tis done ! upon this grief torn breast 

No more thou'lt sing. 



STANZAS 



I saw a brilliant meteor sweep 

Across the evening's tranquil sky ; 
Majestic through the upper deep, 

It sped, all beautiful and high. 
I turned a sudden glance upon 

The moon, just verging from the sea : 
I turned again, the flame was gone — 

Had faded in immensity. 

Thus, often hath Hope's meteor gleamed 

Athwart the changing sky of life ; 
So vivid have its beauties seemed — 

With such resplendent colors rife — 
That I had thought it might not fade, 

But in increasing lustre bloom ; 
Vain thought — in disappointment's shade 

The glowing thing was lost in gloom. 



THE SWORD OF WASHINGTON 



On Fame's proud summit, there it glows, 

All glittering in its pride : 
The honored steel that clung in war 

Close to the hero's side. 

Thrice honored still, the proudest blade 

That warrior ever drew : 
In Virtue's name 'twas sanctified, 

To Virtue erer true. 

It rose the Revolution's light. 

A glowing, burning star ; 
And rayed its lustre far above 

The stormy tide of war. 

From Bunker's hill to Yorktown's heights, 

A fearful flame it spread: 
And Freedom's phalanx, firmly joined, ' 
To victory it led. 

The tyrant and the hireling troops, 
That swept, — a furious flood ; 

By strength and stratagem essayed 
To quench its light in blood. 



138 THE SWORD OF WASHINGTON. 

As well the vapours of the deep, 
By furious whirlwinds driven, 

Might seek behind their wrath and ire 
To hide the light of heaven. 

Proud steel ! the warrior hand that drew 
Thee, shining from thy sheath, 

Baptized thy edge in Freedom's fane, 
For Liberty or Death. 

The warrior soul that gave thee fame, 

At Freedom's altar caught 
The hallowed zeal that bore him through 

The storm with perils fraught. 

He waved thee o'er the little band, 
Whose bloody foot-prints told, 

In freemen's nerves were better trust, 
Than in a despot's gold. 

He waved thee o'er the injured few, 
That dared the despot's frown ; 

And sought beneath the stripes and stars, 
A holier renown. 

Thou art a star in freedom's sky, 
The world's keen gaze is on 

The land that thou hast lifted up, — 
Whose honors thou hast won. 



TOAST. 139 

Still may she hold her envied height, 

'Till others nations join 
Beneath the flag of Liberty, 

To rear their freedom-shrine. 

Star of the brave, the storm is past, 

And Freedom, now at ease, 
Looks on thee, and the flag that floats 

In triumph on the breeze. 



TOAST. 

Fill up, fill up, the shining cup ! 

Come ! till it to the brim ; 
Upon the overflowing top 

Let not a feather swim. 
Fill it quickly, let us drink, 

And banish care and sorrow ; 
'Tis summer now, we'll sport and think 

Of wintry care — to-morrow. 

Away with melancholy now . 

And woe's unwelcome tone ; 
Ai Pleasure's laughing shrine we'll bow 

While joy shall fill the throne. 
Fill up, fill up, the shining cup ! 

Let intervals be shorter ! 
Come ! fill it brimming to the top, 

But let the draught be — water. 



CHILDHOOD'S HOPES 



Like the rosy tints of morning, 

Laughing twilight into day, 
Ere richer hues the sky adorning, 

Paint the day-god's glorious way. 
Like the beauteous clouds that travel 

Slowly o'er the summer sky ; 
Truant breezes break their revel, 

And the playful vapours fly ; — 

Such are childhood's fleeting hopes. 

Like the bubble on the river, 

Rising as the waters flow ; 
Plays a moment — then forever, 

Sinks the gliding wave below. 
Like the radiant bow that lingers, 

On the cloud, as though it were, 
Pencilled by a seraph's fingers, — 

Brightly, briefly glowing there ; — 
Such are childhood's fleeting hopes. 



THE LAND WE LOVE. 



The land we love is free — old lar — 
The land we love is free ; 

From Behring's straits — 

To ocean's gates — 
'Tis chainless as the sea. 
There's not a power on earth — old tar, 
There's not a power on earth. 

That dares defame 

Columbia's name, 
The place of Freedom's birth. 

It was Oppression's scourge — old tar — 
It was Oppression's scourge, 

By tyrants laid 

On Freedom's head. 
That did this nation urge 
To strike in Freedom's cause — old tar, 
To strike in Freedom's cause ; 

With flag unfurled, 

To dare the world 
To violate her laws. 



142 THE AMAZON. 

Nor shall the Frenchmen now — old tar 
Nor shall the Frenchmen now, 

Seek to enslave 

The free, the brave; — 
We boys will show them how 
To fight for home and friends — old tar, 
To fight for home and friends ; 

With flag on high — 

We'll do or die, 
And there the matter ends. 



THE AMAZON. 



Flow on thou Mississippi of the South! 

Thy brilliant waters through the mines of gold, 

Which from the lofty Andes to the sea 

Enrich the favored clime, — have rolled for years 

A wonder to the savage as he stood 

In Nature's majesty upon thy shores, 

Mingling his voice with thy tremendous roar, 

In worship of the Spirit of the wilds. 

Proud stream ! the cultured mind may look on thee, 

And like the savage feel the gush of praise 

Rise with the endless anthem of thy waves, 

And learn to worship Nature's mighty God. 



LELIA, GO NOT TO THE BALL TO-NIGHT! 



Lelia, go not to the ball to-night, 
Nor join with the heedless crowd ; 
Though brows may look cheerful and hearts seem 

light- 
King Itevel may ride through the hall in his might, 
And the joke and the laugh may be loud : 
Yet the summon of death. 
J u a single breath. 
May the hopes of that revel encloud. 

The giddy group on the snow-white iloor, 
May stand up — a chosen sci ; 
The music in happiest strains may pour, 
To a partner each may be handed o'er, 
And hands may already have met ; 
Vet the summon of death, 
In a single breath, 
.May till the whole group with regret. 



144 LELIA, GO NOT TO THE BALL TO-NIGHT. 

Death is a tyrant that heeds not place, 
Nor doth for circumstance care ; 
He never hath passed by a beautiful face, 
All, all feel alike to his cold embrace, 
Both the monster and maiden fair, 
At the summon of death, 
In a single breath, 
To the region of gloom must repair. 

He sometimes waits in the gilded hall, 
Where none but the happy meet, 
And ere a foot in the dance may fall, 
On the youngest — the loveliest he may call, — 
Her form may be low at his feet ; 
Aye the summon of death, 
In a single breath 
The lightest, the loveliest may greet. 

Lelia, go not to the ball to-night, 
Nor join with the giddy crowd, 
Health on thy cheek may seem blooming and bright, 
Thy heart may be ready to burst with delight, 
And thy joy may have no cloud ; 
But the summon of death, 
In a single breath, 
May stiffen thy form for its shroud. 



MAY FLOWERS 



Go weave thee a garland of May flowers, child ! 

Go weave thee a garland fair ! 
'Tis the season of bloom when the zephyrs mild, 
From the sunny south, in their sportings wild. 

Come laden with incense rare ; 
Our spirits now should be gladsome and gay, 
For the Frost-King of winter has hastened away. 
O soft as gold on the gossamer's wing! 
And as rich, is the burden the breezes bring; 
And grateful to all, the sweet odours they fling, 

When the May-sun warms the air. 

In his chariot of glare the proud day-god comes, 

And aether trembles in light ; 
Rich fragrance distils from the spheres he illumes, 
His beams are displayed thro' a thousand perfumes 

That swim in the colours bright. 
The clouds swiftly rush from his burning raj s, 
All melted, they waste in the brilliant blaze : 
O the glory that shrouds him, w hat eye can behold ' 
His pathway is varied with crimson and gold, 
He rides his high circuit in splendour untold, 

In majesty and in might. 
13 



146 MAY FLOWERS. 

Winter's rude storms have all hushed them to rest — 
The snows have melted and gone ; 

The wild swans skim light o'er the lake's tranquil 
breast, 

The swallow is seeking a place for her nest, — 
The soil, like another zone, 

Is lifting to verdure the warmth it receives, 

And crowning the boughs in their beautiful leaves. 

O the fields and the forests are shining in green ! 

It is time the sweet flowers were glowing between, 

And the lovers of spring had arrayed their May 
Queen 
In her crown on her grassy throne. 

Go weave thee a garland of flowers so sweet ! 

A garland all glowing and fair ! 
Haste away, child, to thy garden retreat, 
In the arbour there on its moss-covered seat, 

Weave a fine garland my dear : 
Cull out the fine bunches so careful, and bind 
The fairest May coronal that ever was twined; 
Thy forehead, my dear, shall the garland endow, — 
O gladly I'd weave a May-crown for my brow, 
But mother I happen to think of it now, 

May has no flowers this year. * 

* Spring, 1835. 



SONG OF THE FAIRIES 



Away and away ! 
O'er plain and o'er valley 
Away ! — 
We'll hide in the blackberry bush, 
'Till the tempest has passed from the sky, 

And soon as the sun shall blush, 
Our wings in his light w r e'll try, — 
Away and away ! 
O'er prairie and mountain, 
Away! 

We'll drink of the crystal tlood, 
As it flows from the mountain-side ; 
And resting awhile in the wood. 
Again on the winds we will glide — 
Away and away ! 
O'er land and the ocean 
Away ! 

To lave in the light blue sea, 
And bask in the burning sun, 

Will be sweet, — and we'll flutter free, 
'Till our brilliant course is done ! 
Away and away ! 
On the wild summer breezes 
Away I 



THE ESTRANGED. 



I bound thee in a brother's love, 

Firm to this faithful heart ; 
And once I thought the rocks might move, 

Ere thou and I could part. 
I've watched each anxious wish of thine, 

And oft to soothe thy care, 
I've made thy bosom-sorrows mine, 

And felt how keen they were. 

If dark affliction's Upas spell, 

Upon a heart that prest, 
Hath ever found responding swell 

Within another's breast — 
That breast was mine, and full it throbbed 

To woes that made thee bow, 
But ah ! some reptile thing hath robbed 

Me of thy friendship now. 

Farewell ! thy name in faithful prayer 

Shall ever offered be ; 
And though I never more may share 

Affection's feast with thee — 
My love about thy path to fame, 

Shall gather as a spell — 
Shall wrap thee in its deathless flame ; 

Speed on — speed on — farewell ! 



MY FATHER MADE THEM ALL 



While yonder sparkling orbs of night, 

Are rising from the deep ; 
Rolling in silence and in light, 

Up the cerulean steep— 
I steal from men — alone to muse 

On shore and shining sea ; 
And on those bright aud burning worlds 

That swim immensity. 

Wisdom her glorious name hath writ 

On ocean — earth and air ; 
No thing in Nature's wide domain, 

But doth the impress bear, 
Here, on the sands, the crystal waves 

With playful winds that meet ; 
Witness her universal sway, 

In music at my feet. 

How green — how grand yon woodland slope I 

How beautiful the vale, 
Where summers flowers profusely spread 

Their odours on the gale f . 



13* 



150 MY FATHER MADE THEM ALL. 

The streamlet winding through the mead, 
The mountain's rocky height ; 

Pictures of varied loveliness, 
How they enchain the sight ? 

Monarch of waters, — ocean rolls 

Unfettered, free and wild ; 
Majestic in his hour of calm, 

And gentle as a child — 
Majestic, if his surface sweep, 

By tempests rudely driven, 
Or mirror in his shining depths, 

The myriads of heaven. 

Yon orbs of beauty — all are wrought 

With most amazing skill ; 
The power by which we count them o'er, 

Is more amazing still. 
High o'er them shines the attribute 

By which their ways we scan, 
Vast work of the eternal mind, — 

The intellect of man. 

To the unsinning throngs that sail 

The shoreless deep of heaven, 
God, in his dispensations wise, 

No attribute hath given 
Of such commanding excellence 

As the proud gift of mind, 
Which to the likeness of himself 

Doth elevate mankind. 



A THOUGHT. 151 

Mysterious power ! — in thought I turn 

Aside the vaulting blue, 
And gaze beyond, where worlds of light, 

Are swimming in my view. 
There I behold the the isles of bliss, 

By angels only trod ; 
Bright amaranthine paradise — 

The residence of God. 

The intellect — of deathless joys 

Only immortal heir, 
May look beyond these starry worlds, 

And claim its portion there. 
On all — Intelligence may gaze, 

While yet in earthly thrall ; 
And in exultant hope exclaim, 

"My Father made them all." 



A THOUGHT. 

The Sabbath sun — the Sabbath sun 

Is blushing o'er the sea ; — 
The Sabbath bells are chiming on 
Right merrily. 

But ere the sun may fade behind 

The flower scented lea, 
The peal of death may on the wind 
Float drearily. 



LIFE — A GARDEN. 



This little laughing world of ours, 
Is a fair garden strewn with flowers ; — 
Some blooming — beautiful and rare, 
And other some, not quite so fair ; 
Rude thorns among the boughs abide, 
As though they meant their points to hide ; 
And those who walk the garden through, 
Are sure to get a sting or two. 

Sometimes in shade — sometimes in sun, 
The posey seekers wander on ; — 
Their cheeks in gloom or lips in smiles, 
They wander through the perfumed aisles ; 
With care, the freshest blossoms choosing, 
The faded and the pale refusing, 
As though it were, the only aim 
To weave a garland for each name — 
To weave it of the choicest flowers 
That bloom among the garden bowers. 

The good — the great — the wise — the brave, 
'Mid fops and fools their garlands weave ; 
Each seeking with the utmost care, 
A flower, than the rest more fair — 



THE GRAVE. 153 

A blossom — brightest of the train 
That nourish on the verdant plain. — 
See how they on each other press ! 
The flower they seek is happiness. 

Briskly they move from bough to bough, 

Though cool at first, — with fervor now. 

They hurry on from place to place, 

To compass all the varied space, 

Ere age may throw his pall of gloom, 

O'er posey bright, and check of bloom. 

Long have they searched from bower to bower, 

And lew have gained the favored flower, 

And those who have, its folds between, 

Have found the sharp thorns intervene, 

Wounded alas ! they turn to fly, 

But fall upon the spot and die. 

The flower they strive so hard to save 

Blooms fairest near the seeker's grave. 



THE GRAVE. 

Within its depths are safely sleeping, 
Myriads of the wasting dead : 

Angel watehcrs now are keeping 
Guard, o'er many a lowly head. 

The silent tenants of the tomb, 
Are resting sweetly in its gloom. 



TO AN ALBUM. 



Eidolon of beauty ! among thy leaves 
Varied in hue, untouched and stainless now, 
The friend, the stranger and the passer by, 
Their names may register, and each a line 
Expressive of regret or joy write down. — 
Relationships as sacred as the love, 
In one vast brotherhood, that binds mankind, 
May be rehearsed upon thy spotless sheets ; 
And thou may'st be in distant years to come, 
To other hearts than those that know thee now, 
The lovely messenger of good or ill. 

The friend will give the wayward smile and tear, 

As they may pass upon his heart, to thee ; 

The smile, — the sweetest that belongs to earth, 

Which shines the brightest sunshine of the heart 

And gilds life's changes with its heavenly rays. — 

The tear — the bitterest e'er sorrow shed ; 

For human feelings never yet have flowed 

Up from a deeper fount than may be touched 

By broken faith, or violated vow. 

The bow of beauty ne'er adorns the cloud, 

That hangs o'er blighted friendship ; once that cloud 



TO AN ALBUM. 155 

Spreads in thick darkness o'er the smitten heart. 

It rains and rains forever ; no fair sun, 

May e'er ascend to pierce the pall-like gloom, 

And throw his beams upon the falling drops, 

To raise the radiant Iris of content, 

Which oft doth rear itself upon the mind 

At peace with friendship and with the wide world, 

Bright as the arch that crowns the stormy heavens. 

To thee, the stranger may his feeling tell ; 
How when among the giddy and the gay, 
Where lute and song their notes to gladness lent, 
He stood a sad and solitary one ; 
Nor saw the sporting crowd that danced around. 
Nor hoard the merry laugh and shout of joy ; 
His heart, in the glad revel mingled not, 
Twas with his best beloved far, far away. 

The passer by, will give a random thought 
So like himself, a truant, to thy page : 
And when away, perhaps by Fortune called — 
Perhaps by Pleasure, to some foreign shore. 
To sport in other climes, as he did here. 
That thought, his memory may bring up anew ; 
And it may be, some lovely mourner's heart 
Touched by its wildness, may a tear give forth. 
1 [allowed by remembrance of some pleasure past. — 
Some joy departed, which may not again, 
Ruffle the sea offeeting, which doth sleep, 
Unmoved in sluggish and vexatious calm. 



156 THE BLIGHT. 

Perchance, there may be one to write on thee, 
The story of his pure abiding love, 
Which thou may'st bear in safety to the loved, 
And in the deed high happiness confer, 
That time nor circumstance may ever mar ; 
If so, thy hallowed embassy will make 
A richer treasure of thee, than the mines, 
Whose golden bosoms give the world its wealth. 

And when thy last fair page is written o'er, 
And death, on all who leave their signets here, 
Has thrown his pall of darkness ; when they all — 
The stranger and the friend, with him who came, 
And in the same bright moment went his way, 
Shall pass from life and pleasure here below, — 
In bliss and beauty may they meet again, 
To mingle ever in the better world. 



THE BLIGHT. 

She left her wild-rose blooming fair, 
And came again within an hour ; 

Alas ! the rude winds had been there, 
And withered was the lovely flow'r. 

'Tis vain to place the trusting heart, 
On joys but for the moment given : 

'Twere wise, to choose the better part, 
And fix the hopes on endless heaven. 



FLAG OF TEXAS. 



Float on thou bright young banner, 

Unfolded by the free, 
When at the cannon's mouth they swore, 

For death or liberty. 
Child of the storm ! the stripes that date 

Thy yet unwritten story. 
May gather stars and wave o'er fields 

Where freemen fight for glory. 

The breeze of heaven shall bear thee 

Up on its sunny wing. 
Until the triumph of thy star. 

The dove of peace shall bring. 
Thy birth-place was the field of blood, 

And War's terrific thunder, 
Did cradle thee, 'till thou hast broke 

Oppression's bonds asunder. 

Among the flags of nations, 

There is a place for thee, 
Flaunt up thou bright young banner, 

Flaunt proudly o'er the free. 
The stripes and stars shall lead thee on, 

That o'er Columbia wave j — 
Float on in sweet companionship, 

Proud banners of the brave ! 
1 I 



THOU SPEAKEST STILL. 



In memory of Rev. J. Mc G. Dale, late of St. James' parish, Balti- 
more county, Md. 



Thou speakest still ! — thy voice I hear, 
In tones as audible — as clear, 

As when in days gone by, 
We wandered on the green-hill side ; 
Or 'neath the elm trees spreading wide, 

We spoke of Him on high. 
And when alone, or 'mid the crowd, 
Where pleasure's laugh rings light and loud, 

Thou speakest still. 

Thou speakest still ! — the summer flowers, 
That freshen in the morning showers, 

And droop their heads at even, 
Remind me of thy manly bloom 
So soon a trophy for the tomb — 

So soon removed to heaven, 
Upon the fragrant breath of morn 
Thy well known — welcome voice is borne, 

Thou speakest still. 



THOU SPEAKEST STILL. 159 

Thou speakest still ! — when day beams fade, 
I seek alone the wild-wood shade. 

Once to us both so dear ; 
My temples bathe in balmy air, 
And oft I fancy thou art there, 

Thou seemest always near. 
And when the evening's fragrant breeze, 
Wafts gently through the stately trees, 
Thou speakest still. 

Thou speakest still ! — the prayer, the praise 
That moved thy lips in other days, 

O'er memory's waters steal ; 
And if the temple's courts I tread, 
Or at its altar bow my head, 

The soothing power I feel. 
And when the sacred band I meet, 
To mingle at the mercy-seat, 
Thou speakest still. 

Thou speakest still ! — though dust is now 
A pillow for thy blanching brow 

Beneath the flowery sod ; 
Thy deathless spirit has upflown, 
To share, in light anear his throne, 

The glory of its God. 
Amid the high and happy throngs 
That fill celestial courts with songs, 

Thou speakest still. 



QUERIES. 



And have ye fled forever, 

Scenes of the happy past ? 
And shall your beauties never, 

On life again be cast? 
Must memory's mingled pages, 

Alone the traces bear ? 
And tell that by-gone ages, 

Are living only there ? 

Where are the golden glories, 

That gladden'd childhood's brow ?- 
The age of sports and stories — 

Jts joys ; — where are they now ? 
And where the loved of childhood ? 

The little giddy throng, 
That wandered in the wildwood, 

The silent shades among? 

Where are the crowds — so gaily 
That gambolled on the plain, 

The merry friends that daily, 
Met in the smiling train ? 



QUERIES. 161 

And they whose locks were whitened, 
That laughed to see them gay — 

Whose care the mirth had lightened, 
The aged, — where are they ? 

Has life, that all with flowers 

Arrayed their morning sky, 
Followed its suns with showers, 

And swept their pleasures by ? 
Or are they sweetly sleeping, 

Upon the green earth's breast, 
While the lone winds are sweeping 

Around their lowly rest? 

Where is the village steeple 

That rose a snowy tower ? 
The bell that warned the people 

Of worship's holy hour ? 
The school-house in the valley, 

The careless, urchin throng, 
That through the flowery alley 

Their wild sports led along. 

The cot beneath the mountain, 

In the valley prized so dear? 
The shelving cove — the fountain, 

The streamlet running clear ? — 
The arbor on the heather, 

Where the wild-brier grew, — 
And the old and young togethei 

In merry dances flew ? 
11- 



162 SORROW. 

The narrow pathway winding 

About the mountain's side ? — 
The flowery bridges binding 

Its slopes so steep and wide ? 
The ravine o'er whose bosom 

Rolled the rapid waterfall ? — 
The summer's bud and blossom, 

Its fruits — where are they all ? 

Why in the past's deep ocean 

Does thought still love to lave ; 
Though in its wild commotion, 

It drives with every wave 1 
Why flows the flood of feeling, 

With recollection fast ? 
And why does memory stealing 

Still settle on the past. 



SORROW 



Roll on thou dark unfathomable flood ! 
Roll while thou may'st, — for a day will come 
When tyrant as thou art, thy swelling waves 
Shall find a shore they seek not ; the reft hearts 
Thou whelmest in thy waters, soon may be 
Beyond thy surges, in the shades of death. 
Roll on ! there is a port beyond thy seas, 
Where thou shalt cease to trouble, and the head 
Bowed in its weariness, forever rest. 



FESTIVAL OF THE TOMBS. 



"Thousands of the persecuted Jews continue piously to celebrate the 
'Festival of the Tombs,' in the valley of Jehoshaphat. There, where 
their kings have paid adoration to the Almighty, and their prophets 
became inspired, the whole Jewish population, by permission of thru 
Turkish masters, periodically assemble to perform the solemn cere- 
mony." — Letter from the Holy Lund. 

Where Judah's kingly sons have bowed, 

Unsceptrcd in the dust, 
To Him who saw their empire's doom, 

Its glory and its rust — 
The scattered remnants of the land, 

From humbler homes repair, 
To mingle in the holy place 

Their sacrifice of prayer. 

Oh, did the God that raised thee up, 

Thou boasted of his name, — 
Did he in anger swear that thou, 

Shouldst wander forth in shame I 
Say, was it thy unfaithfulness, 

That urged the dread decree; 
And with a deeper brand than Cam's 

Impressed thine infamy I 



164 FESTIVAL OF THE TOMBS. 

Thy heirdom was the sunny shores, 

That caught the honeyed dew ; — 
Thy people once a countless host, 

Now dwindled to a few, — 
Are driven from the peaceful shades, 

Where oft they met to sing, 
And sound on harp and lyre, the praise 

Of God, their matchless King. 

A thousand seas, as many years, 

Have swept their giant waves 
Between the stricken wanderers, 

And the ancestral graves 
That hide on mount — in sunny groves, 

And in the flowery vale ; 
Where the wild requiem of the dead, 

Wafts with the passing gale. 

Where hung the cross on Calvary's brow, 

And bled the Son of God, 
Where Jesus taught, and prayed, and wept,- 

The Turkish banners nod. 
The Moslem rears his shrine of lust, 

Where Jesus told his love ; 
And barters for an endless hell, 

His hopes of bliss above. 

And does the God-like martyr look, 

From thrones of light on high, 
On spots his blood hath crimsoned o'er 

And hallowed in the dye ? 



FESTIVAL OF THE TOMBS. 166 

And does he gaze on flowery climes, 

For which he suffered death, 
Whose gently wafting breezes bear 

A foul impostor's breath ? 

Thy sins, thou dear, apostate land, 

Have clad thy shores in gloom: — 
Like pyramids they've gathered up 

And frown in lasting doom. 
Fate's dreary pages have revealed 

This dreadful truth to thee, — 
A common curse is not the price 

Of black idolatry. 

The haughty Saracen hath fixed 

His fetters on the throne 
That David reared, when Israel's pride 

In primal splendour shone ; 
Jerusalem's ashes, jewels are. 

That cluster on his name ; 
The lovely temple's ruins now 

Are pillars for his tame. 

The helpless tribes from every land, 

Looked tovv'rds their rifled home, 
And in their hearts they longed, once more 

Its pleasant fields to roam. 
They asked the tyrant fur his leave 

That they in peace might meet, 
To weep and worship on the soil, 

At their Redeemer's feet. 



166 FESTIVAL OF THE TOMBS. 

What heartless despot could have spurned 

The homeless Jews away — 
Who asked, upon their fatherland 

A little spot to pray — 
Could point up to the Crescent's folds 

That opened to the breeze 
And to Mahomet's hated shrine, 

And say, "Kneel worship these ?" 

'Tis Turkish mercy gives the boon, 

A fierce barbarian's hate, 
Could not refuse an exile race, 

So rent and desolate. 
And where their prophets' forms were laid, 

And yet in peace repose ; 
The wronged — the wretched, meet and mourn 

Their mountain weight of woes. 

There is a tie death cannot break — 

Stronger than seals of blood ; 
It binds, whatever be their creed, 

Believers to their God. 
'Tis like the love the wanderer feels, 

Misfortune dooms to roam, 
When sickness brings in distant lands, 

The memories of home. 

It brings the banished — bleeding Jews, 

Back to their smitten vales, 
Where the infernal crescent waves 

In scorn among the gales, — 



FESTIVAL OF THE TOMBS. 167 

And while the Turk "II Allah IV shouts, 

And high his Sonnah rears, 
The kneeling pilgrims celebrate 

Their gloomy Feast of Tears. 

Weep bitter floods ye multitudes, 

That impious pseans raise, 
And fiends sweep o'er the prophets' dust, 

A mad usurper's praise, — 
Weep, 'till the faithful, all shall meet 

In happier worlds above; 
And mingle in the happy shout 

Of everlasting love. 



YON STARRY WORLDS 



Yon starry worlds, how calmly bright 
They move along the sky? 

Pearls in the coronal of night. 
They glitter upon high. 

Bright islands of the upper deep, 
How brilliantly they glow : 

Like diamonds ocean-eagles weep; — 
Gems on a sea of snow. 



THE FALL. 



A world — all beautiful and bright 
VVas basking in the brilliant light 
That came from heav'n ; 
'Twas like a living thing and fair, — 

A spirit rising from its rest, 
And lightly tripping through the air ; — 
Or star reclining on the breast 
Of lovely ev'n. 

'Twas spotless as the burning rays, 
That wrapped it in their glorious blaze 

Of purity. 
With genial suns and freshning showers, 

The sphere, a garden fragrance gained- 
Was soon arrayed in lovely flowers ; 
But ere their glories had attained 
Maturity, 

A serpent saw them in their bloom, 
And sweeping from his den of gloom, 

With venom fraught, 
And purpose for destruction fell ; 

He crossed its vales and mountains fair, 
And left his horrid trail to tell 

What deep — what deadly ruin there 
O'er all he wrought. 



THE OLD ELM. 



Thou standest on the forest's edge, 

Proud monarch of the wood ; 
Thy sturdy form, the goings forth. 

Of many a storm hath stood. 
Age doth not seem to weaken thee, 

Thy greenness doth not fail ; 
And years to come thy hoary head. 

Shall battle with the gale. 

Thou art a faithful sentinel. 

And Time hath fixed thee there, 
To mark the flight of fleeting years, 

As ever on they wear ; 
And though the winter's sweeping blasts 

Thy leaves have often slain; 
The flowering summer hath renewed 

Thy emerald robes again. 

Like a true friend, old favored elm, 

To me thy form appears ; 
Strange visions of wild phantasy. 

Come up from other years 
15 



170 THEOLDELM. 

And shades of dark mysterious gloom, 

Are o'er my senses cast, 
While musing o'er the varied scenes, 

That crowd the fertile past. 

How many young and happy hearts, 

Have thrilled in wild delight, 
Anticipating richer bliss, 

In manhood's glorious might, — 
Trusting the world's bright promises, 

More bright alas ! than true, 
Beneath the deep and ample shade, 

Thy towering branches threw ? 

And many forms of fairest mould, 

And cheeks of youthful bloom, 
Have passed to manhood and to age, 

And to the dreary tomb, 
Since thou wert waving in thy pride, 

A prince among the trees, 
With all thy glowing pinions spread, 

In beauty on the breeze. 

Oft thou hast seen the flaxen locks, 

On childhood's brow of snow. 
Uplifted by the slightest breeze, 

In graceful ringlets flow, — 
, Hast seen them thicken and assume, 

A darker, sterner hue, 
Until the hand of age, at length, 

The silver o'er them threw. 



THE OLD ELM. 171 

And thou hast marked the ruddy check. 

And forehead high and lair. 
Before Time's iron hand had writ. 

On them a line of care : 
The cheek before thy sight has blanched. 

The forehead furrowed o'er, 
And both were laid, beneath the sod, 

To bloom and blanch no more. 

My grandsire, when a thoughtless boy, 

Beneath thy boughs has played : 
And forms of helpless infancy, 

Were cradled in thy shade; 
And thou hast seen life's chan^inii; ilood. 

Full often o'er them sweep; 
Now sheltered from the winter's blast, 

And w r atched by thee, they deep. 

And 1, the wayward youth, — the man, 

Have wandered near thy side ; 
Matured in strength before thee now, 

I stand in manhood's pride; 
Beside the dead, a narrow place, 

Untenanted I see ; 
Soon with my fathers I may rest, 

That place is left for me. 

Ere long, the greensward at thy base, 

Shall show another grave ; 
And over me, as green as now, 

Shall thy long branches wave. 



172 THE OLD ELM. 

And other feet shall wander here, 

And other hearts be gay, 
When I, like my ancestral race, 

From earth have passed away. 

Strange thoughts are running through my mind, 

Strange feelings move my heart ; 
And from the ruptured fount of grief, 

J feel the warm tears start. — 
I think how many seasons yet, 

Thy beauty shall return, 
When I have fed the hated worm, 

In the sepulchral urn. 

And summer suns shall roll on high, 

As brilliantly as e'er ; — 
And summer skies, as broad — as blue — 

As beautiful — as clear, 
Shall shine above the busy world, 

When life with me is done, 
And few, ah very few indeed, 

Will know that I have gone. 



MIDNIGHT. 

How like is midnight to the solemn hush 
Of soundless solitude ? All nature seems 
Breathless and still, and a subduing power 
Broods omnioptent o'er the sleeping throngs 
That people night's dominions ; when the day 
Like the rough storm that tossed the billowed sea 
Hath passed, and left all quiet in its rear, 
The weary multitudes by toil worn down, 
Seek to renew their energies in sleep, 
And of success to-morrow, dream the while. 
The city, like the sleeping sea, is calm, 
The waves that troubled it, have left it now; 
But heavy hearts that in its tumult throbbed 
Are beating still on many a couch of care. 
As swollen rivers when the tempest dies, 
Rage on, until their fury all is spent, — 
So bosoms, worried in the busy strife, 
Repose not, till the passion-swell subsides. 

How do the wretched hail the stilly hour, 
And kneel in misery's rapture in its shade, 
And feel amid their sorrows that the gloom 
Doth temper witli their passion I — 'balmy sleep' 
Seldom d<'th visit them, and every stroke 
Of Time, that falls upon their anxious ears, 
Sounds like the knell of happiness. 
l.V 



MILLENIAL. 



Traveller, look ! the morn is breaking, 
Nature from her sleep is waking ; 

See her sun rise glorious up ! 
On life's sea his bright beams throwing, 
Gladly now the waves are glowing, v 
And its world of waters flowing, 

Lustred by immortal hope. 

Hail the bright, the beauteous morning, 
All the moral waste adorning, 

Strewing brilliance every where ! 
Soft the light through aether spreading, 
Slowly on the darkness treading, — 
Chasing gloom, and glory shedding, 

Richly on the ambient air. 

From God's high throne in clusters beaming, 
Rainbow hued the rays are streaming, 

Sainted spirits side by side 
In shining ranks are now advancing, 
Lightly on the splendours dancing, — 
Glittering hosts, with tread entrancing ! 

See them on the radiant tide. 



MILLENIAL. 175 

Holy harps in sweetest numbers, 
Waking sleepers from their slumbers, 

Sweep the richest notes of song ; 
The vaulted 1k.\i\ ens ring with praises, 
Loud the mighty anthem raises, — 
Sainted lips in sweetest phrases, 

Bear the sacred sounds along. 

The banner of the Cross unfurling, 
Bloodless on the air is curling, — 

Spreads its folds of deathless fame ; 
Before it Sin's proud flag is falling, 
Allah's honors high, are thralling, — 
Jew and Moslem, — all are calling 

On the true [Messiah's name. 

Jesus is in power descending, 

All the blood-washed throng attending, 

See him seize the sceptre now ! 
High the angel hosts arc winging, 
Seraphim their incense flinging, — 
Cherubim new honors bringing, 

Bind them on Messiah's brow. 

From blessed throngs sweet notes are breaking, 

Heaven :\\u\ earth to joy are waking, 

All to climes of bliss repair; 
Millions who in WO were weeping, — 
Millions who in death were sleeping, 
With the throngs redeemed, are keeping. 

Holy, happy Sabbath there. 



CONFIDENCE. 



The Spirit of the Tempest shook 

His wings of raven hue 
Above the sea, and hollow winds 

Howled o'er the waters blue. 

Uprose the mountain billows high, 

And swept a stormy path ; 
Darkness and terror mingled there 

Their ministry of wrath. 

A lonely bark, by bounding seas 

Tossed wildly to and fro, 
Dashed o'er the billows foaming brow, 

To fearful depths below. 

Crash echoed crash ! — the quivering spars 

Broke o'er the leaning side, 
And left the bark a shattered wreck, 

The stormy waves to ride. 

The sturdy seamen struggled hard 

To hold the yielding helm, 
And keep the ship's prow to the surge, 

That threatened to o'erwhelm. 



CONFIDENCE. 177 

And when the plunging ruin spurned 

Their impotent control, 
They madly flew to drown their tears 

In the accursed bowl. 

Upon the raging ocean then 

Helpless was left the bark. 
To the wild mercy of the waves, 

Amid the tempest dark. 

Upon the deck, alone, there stood 

A man of courage high; — 
A hero, from whose bosom fear 

Had never drawn a sigh. 

With folded arms, erect he stood, 

His countenance was mild ; 
And camly gazing on the scene, 

He bowed his head and smiled. 

A wild shriek from the cabin rose — 

Up rushed his beauteous bride ; 
With locks dishevelled, and in tears, 

She trembled at his side. 

"0 why my love, upon thy lip," 
She cried, "doth play that smile, 

When all is gloom and terror here, 
And I must weep the while V 



178 CONFIDENCE. 

No word the warrior spoke, — but he 

Drew from beneath his vest 
A poignard bright, and placed its point 

Against her heaving breast. 

She started not, nor shrieked in dread, 

As she had shrieked before ; 
But stood astonished, and surveyed 

His tranquil features o'er. 

"Now why," he asked, "dost thou not start 1 

May not thy blood be spilt ?" 
With sweet composure she replied, 

" My husband holds the hilt /" 

"Dost wonder, then, that I am calm ? 

That fear shakes not my form ? 
I ne'er can tremble while I know 

My God directs the storm /" 



CHILDISH SPECULATIONS 



I wonder what the sky is made of, 

Glowing in such princely blue : 
Is it solid substance painted \ 

Or is it light that bounds the view ' 
If painted — what a mighty painter, 

Must have thrown his pencil there ! 
li' light — how matchless the Creator — 

That spread such glories every where. 

Yon sun — is it a globe of fire, 

Whose beams the boundless space illume ? 
If so, how could it burn forever ! 

Why doth its substance not consume ? 
But may-be its a world like this, 

By a horizon bounded too : 
I wonder what the color rs, 

If orange, or like ours, of blue. 

Quere if the moon's a warrior's shield 
All shining in its height sublime ' 

Or if it be a country chees 

That changes in the milking time ' 



180 CHILDISH SPECULATIONS. 

She looks a good deal like a shield 
Of silver, hung upon the sky; 

Yet she may be a peopled world, 
Rolling in majesty on high. 

The stars ! — I wonder if they're holes 

Bored in the canopy of blue — 
"Gimblet holes," as poets say 

Made "to let the glory through !" 
It may be they are angel eyes, 

All gazing from their glory down ; 
What matchless jewels they would make 

To ornament a monarch's crown ! 

What if the glittering galaxies 

That gem the azure arch of night, 
Are worlds inhabited — and walk 

Like spirits through their halls of light ! 
What if an angel's eye on each, 

Is watching from some heaven of bliss, 
Guarding the sparklers as they rove 

In thousands through the wide abyss ! 

In thinking on these wond'rous things, 

What mysteries to the mind arise ? — 
What oceans of uncertainty, 

Confounding, even to the wise ? 
The works of the infinite God, 

Are mysteries to finite man ; 
And we can only stand and gaze, 

And wonder where we dare not scan. 



THEN SING THE SONG I LOVE. 

O not when in the festive hall 

We mingle with the thoughtless throng: 
There Pleasure's footsteps lightly fall, 

And wild delight holds hearts in thrall:— 
There Revel reigns, and wine and song 

The fleeting hours of night prolong; 
But thoughtless moments are not Love's, 

Nor revel, wine nor minstrelsy 
The deep recess of feeling moves, 

Which Love reserves for him and thee: 
If Pleasure's light and laughing strain, 
A single wish of thine shall gain. 
Then sing no song for me. 

But if the world, its shadows throw 

Between thee and thy happy sun ; 
If weariness of all below 

Shall plunge thy spirit deep in wo ;— 
If Pleasure's latest sands seem run. 

And all that once was joy is done :— 
If sorn.w en thy sense is stealing 

And in its darkened mystery 
Is wrapped thy bosom's fondest feeling ; — 

Then, If there seems no hope for thee. 
And Revel's light and laughing strain 

Doth pierce thee with more pungent pain, 
Then sing the sung I love. 

16 



THE DEEP— DEEP SNOW 



The snow, the snow, the deep, deep snow ! 

Fields of unbroken white ; 
Like silver in the sun they glow 

All glorious to my sight. 
I gaze upon the boundless plain, 

As I gazed years ago ; 
And wish I was a boy again, 

To wrestle in the snow. 

The snow, the snow, the spotless snow ! 

Pure as the day it seems ; 
And endless as the floods that flow 

Of light in glory-dreams. 
And brilliant as the stars of night, 

The frosted crystals shine — 
That sparkle in the world of white 

Like diamonds in the mine. 

The snow, the snow, the pearly snow ! 

Thou'rt like a jewelled sea, 
All in the sunbeams sparkling so 

I love to look on thee. 



i II I d !• I P — D i: ii' SM <) w , 183 

Thou mind'st me of my boyhood time, 

Care had touched my brow; 
When life was in its morning prime, 
And li< r hl as thou art now. 



The snow, the snow, the radiant snow ! 

Bright mirror of the past ; 
The hours ofyoutii — their easy flow. 

Seem on thy bosom cast. 
I see my purest joys in thee, 

Ere I knew ought oi' guilt; 
My all of bliss they were to me. 

And melted as thou wilt. 

The snow, the snow, the glorious snow 

Thou tcllest of the bands 
WIiii wrestled on thy stainless brow, 

And wrung their aching hands. 
For some of them I have a tear, 

They lie as cold as thou; 
In Death's unwelcome valley drear, 

They're sleeping silent now. 



The snow, the snow, the deep, deep snow! 

Thou'rt welcome still to me ; 
As BWift alike through life we go, 

Friends may we ever be. 
We hail thee from the distant west, 

Thou child of cloud and storm ; 
Thou art the winter's shining vest, 

To keep earth's bosom warm. 



CHRISTMAS MORNING. 

Hail hallowed morning ; at thy glorious dawn 
Man dates redemption from the tyrant's power, 
And wakes to new existence. In thy light, 
Beaming in beauty from the throne of God, 
He views the fetters that have bound his soul 
To grovelling purpose — whose debasing touch 
Had worn and wasted it, until its strength, 
That towered in its majesty tow'rds heaven, 
Was humbled to the dust ; and from the gloom — 
The utter, and malignant gloom of sin, 
He looks in hope to thee, as to the star, 
That points to climes of never ending joy. 

Hail hallowed morning ; when the sunlight broke 

Fresh from thy forehead on Judea's hills, 

The shepherds saw thee, and with songs of praise, 

Chanted thy welcome on the early breeze ; 

And while the mighty trembled, and the wise 

Watched thee in terror, anxious angels swept 

In beauty over Bethlehem— and told 

With harp and song, in strains of purest love, 

That the eternal Sun of Righteousness, 

Had risen there, "with healing in his wings." 






CHRISTMAS MORNING. 185 

For ages, on his throne, the tyrant Sin, 

Had reigned triumphant and engloomed the world 

In moral desolation ; Eden's bowers, 

Once so delightful, and bo robed in bliss, 

Felt the Destroyer 9 ! touch; dread ruin thrilled 

Through all her borders, and her flowery head, 

Bowed in its loveliness and kissed the dust. 

The deed that doomed her. doomed the spotless world, 

And doomed mankind to everlasting death. 

Heaven saw the danger and gave up her king ; 

The first begotten of the glorious God, 

Laid down his sceptre at his Father's feet ; 

His regal robes, a season he resigned, 

And the frail covering of human llesh, 

Wore as a lowly garment in their stead. 

Son of mortality, that weareth pride 

As a rich diadem upon thy brow, 

Throw oil' the tinsel: with the angel group, 

Haste thee to Bethlehem and behold thy God, 

An humble infant by his mother's side 

In the low manger sleeping. 



16* 



DEATH OF MURAT 



Forth from his prison cell, they led 

With solemn steps and slow, 
The man whose locks, the storms of war, 

Had whitened as the snow. 
He passed the dungeon's dreary walls, 

With heart and limb enchained ; 
Condemned to expiate the deeds 

More hands than his that stained. 

Dark thoughts of terror and of death, 

Had cleft their passage through 
The fevered substance of his brain, 

And written on his brow 
Their history of blood and wo— 

Of glory and despair ; 
And scenes of shame and high renown 

Were graven deeply there. 

His eye retained its vigorous gaze, 

Ev'n in that hour of doom, 
That danger in his day of pride, 

In vain essayed to gloom, 



DEATH OF MURAT. 1*7 

Though all life's early promises, 

And hopes were lost to him, — 
The lightning fires were flashing still, 

That death could hardly dim. 

Beside the men of war he marched 

Up to the fated ground; 
And when in their humanity, 

His eyes, they would have bound ; — 
Their proffered sympathy he spurned, 

And with unchanging brow, 
Cried "death I've dared a thousand ways, 

Nor fear to face it now !" 

Awhile in mental agony 

Before the crowd he stood; 
His thoughts went back to by-gone years 

Of battle and of blood. 
The hall of State, — the changing scenes 

Of fortune and of need, 
Retold the terrors to his heart, 

Of many a fearful deed. 

Again o'er Egypt's flowery soil, 

He wandered in his pride; — 
Again the Turks at Aboukir 

Were slaughtered at his side; — 
Again he heard the clashing steel, 

And saw the rushing crowd, 
Whose flight had left him all he asked, — 

The palace of St. Cloud. 



188 DEATH OF MURAT. 

Again in all the pomp of war, 

He trode Marengo's plain ; — 
AH crimsoned with the tide of life, 

And covered with the slain. 
The throne of Naples at his feet, 

Its treasures seemed to fling ; 
The crown pressed on his aching head, 

Once more he felt a king. 

He thought upon his palace home — 

He wandered through its halls, 
Where pictured kings and conquerors 

Looked on him from the walls ; — 
Shouts of the splendid festival, 

And laugh of princely glee, 
Rang through his ears in silver tones 

Of wildest mockery. 

A moment and the mirth is done ; — 

Still is each shining hall, 
And on the captive's quickened sense 

Familiar voices fall ; — 
Around a chamber's cheerful hearth 

A little group appears ; — 
Companions in the gilded scenes 

Of other — brighter years. 

And one was there — the fairest star, 
About his eourt that shone ; 

The dearest jewel in his crown — 
The partner of his throne, 



DEATH OF MURAT. 189 

He heard with mingled wo and joy 

Her lips pronounce liis name; 
And knew thai she who brought him wealth, 

Must share his deepest shame. 

The chord was touched — a bleeding heart 

Its bitter tribute gave ; 
Remembered love, revealed the tear 

That had defied the grave. 
The heart that danger ne'er could shake, 

Nor Terror's tempest move, 
Bowed to affection's memory, 

And broke for woman's love. 

Stern voices rent his fevered dream, 

And made the captive start ; 
He woke ; — the instruments of death, 

Were levelled at his heart. 
And many a war-worn soldier's eye, 

Upon him there that gazed, 
Quivered before the sterner fires, 

'Neath his dark brows that blazed. 

Silence as deep as death came o'er 

That moment fraught with dread, — 
The fearful pause that passed between 

The living and the dead. 
A life-time in that moment swept 

Its pleasures and its gloom : 
And memory thronged with faded things, 

Fresh from their sleep of doom. 



190 KINGS PASS AWAY. 

One thought — the dearest — best of all, 

Leapt from its tomb of years, — 
His wife ! — beloved in weal and wo, 

The same in smiles and tears. 
He raised his fettered hand and drew, 

From underneath his vest 
The image of the loved, — he kissed 

And laid it on his breast. 

The word went forth — the muskets pealed, 

The death pang soon was o'er ; 
The Allies had a foe the less, 

The grave a victim more. 
The history of the man of war, 

In life — in death may prove, 
How fondly may a warrior's heart. 

Cling to a woman's love. 



KINGS PASS AWAY. 

The princes of the earth, like other men 

Pass in succession o'er the path of life ; 

In crowns they glitter, and repose on thrones, 

But king, and crown, and throne, must sleep in dust. 

No king endureth but the King of Kings — 

No crown but that upon his glorious brow ; — 

No throne remains forever, but his throne. 



SONG OF THE SAILOR. 



Our home shall bo on ihe bright blue sea, 

Where the sweeping surges ride ; 
And winds in their wild — wild revelry, 

Wake up the slumbering tide. — 
Where sea nymphs sport on the sunny spray 

That sprinkles the billows with snow ; 
Then rolls in the swell of the sea away 
The restless waters below. 
Away o'er the ocean. 
Tossed by its tide, 
With its wild motion, 
So gaily we'll ride. 

When the dawn is red, and the sun from his bed 

Arises in glory there, 
By some inscrutable impulse led, 

To illumine the sea and the air, — 
We'll gaze on his light as his crown he dips 

Deep in the mirroring wave ; 
Like a fire-ball thrown from a crater's lips 
To sink in some bright sea-cave. 
Away o'er the ocean. 

Swift on its foam. 
Dashed with its motion, 
So gaily we'll roam. 



192 SONG OF THE SAILOR. 

The watch we'll keep as he sinks to sleep 

The watery world behind ; — 
When his brilliant beams o'er the surface sweep, 

All eddying in the wind. 
We'll join with the waves in their lullaby, 
And the sea-bird's song, as she soars 
In the golden flood, o'er the sea and the sky, 
That the setting monarch pours. 
Away o'er the ocean, 
Swept by its might; 
We'll hail its commotion, 
At morn and at night. 

When our voyage is o'er, we'll spring on the shore, 

To spend a short season there ; 
We'll sport with the crowd and pay off the score, 

And again for the sea prepare. 
The beautiful throng, with the laugh and the song, 

Dance round us, a glittering train ; 
But our highest joys to the ocean belong, 
We'll away to the ocean again. 
Away o'er the ocean, 

Tossed by its tide, 
With its wild motion, 
So gaily we'll ride. 



AWAY! AND LEAVE THE BRIMMING 
BOWL. 

Away and leave the brimming bowl ! 
7 Tis sparkling with the rosy wine ; 

But the rich draught may reach the soul, — 
Its curse of fire may soon be thine. 

There's witchery in the wine I know, 
But those that wail its dark control, 

Were once delighted with its flow ; — 
Away nor touch the brimming bowl ! 

Turn from the tempter — turn away ! 
Its brilliant form in beauty glows ; 

But trouble not the bowl to-day. 
For its bright cd^e with ^rief o'erflows. 

Stain not the sideboard's polished top, 
Though bubbles on the brandy play ; 

Let conscience triumph — spurn the drop. 
Turn from the tempter — turn away! 

O let the poisoned draught alone ! 
And from its bright allurements turn ; 

List but a moment at the moan 
Of murdered millions, now that burn, — 

Who drank of the accursed draught, 
'Till reason tottered from her throne, 

And then the cup of hell they quailed ; 
O let the poisoned draught alone ! 
17 



SHE'S DEAD. 

The blood that flowed so free is stayed, 

Its last pulse told ; 
Her form upon the board is laid, 

Senseless and cold. 
Cold are her hands, and cold her head, 

Enveiled in gloom ; 
Her cheek, no longer flushed and red, 

Glows in its bloom ; — 
She's dead ! 

Her skin seems quite transparent now, 

It feels like pearl ; 
And white as marble is her brow; 

The beauteous girl ! — 
She is as lovely in her shroud, 

As when she moved 
The happiest of the happy crowd, 

The most beloved ; — 
She's dead ! 

Upon her form so light, so fair, 

Death's chilling spell 
Passed like the blighting Upas air, 

And she sleeps well. 
Her limbs are still — she may not stir : 

Her features seem 
So calm, — death must have been to her 

A gentle dream ; — 
She's dead ! 



CHANGE. 

If by my childhood's humble home 

I chance to wander now ; 
Or through the grove with brambles grown 

Where cedars used to bow, 
In search of something that I loved — 

Some little trifling thing 
To mind me of my early days, 

When life was in its spring, — 
I find on every thing I see 

A something new and strange ; 
Time's iron hand on them and me 

Hath plainly written — Change. 

My pulse beats slower than it did 

When childhood's ruddy glow 
Was on my cheek, and calmer now 

Doth life's red current flow. 
The stars I gazed with rapture on, 

When youthful hopes were high, 
With sterner years have seemed to change 

Their places in the sky. 
And moonlit nights are plenty now 

Though few they seemed to me, 
When with the light,— the laughing throng, 

I shouted o'er the lea. 



196 CHANGE. 

I've sought the places where we played 

Our boyish "hide and call ;" 
Alas ! the tyrant Change has made 

A common stock of all — 
And bartered for a place of graves 

The lawn and all its bloom; 
O how T upon the walls I wept, 

To think of Change and Doom. 

The lovely spot where roses grew, 

Is strewn with gravestones o'er ; 
And half my little playmate crew 

Have slept to wake no more, — 
'Till Change itself shall cease to be, 

And one successive scene 
Of steadfastness immutable 

Remain where Change hath been. 

It may sometimes make old hearts glad, 

To see the young at play ; 
But always doth my own grow sad, 

When thoughts of their decay 
Come rushing with the memories 

Of what my own hopes were — 
When Carroll's waters and my youth 

Did mutual friendship share. 



LELIA'S CHOICE. 



Lelia, seated in her bower, 

Resting from her morning walk, 
Saw a richly colored flower 

Bending on its slender stalk, — 
"Oh !" said she, "were I the flower, 
To bloom so fair in this sweet bower !" 

Rested, Lelia flew again, 

A pleasure seeking wanderer ; 
Over rock and lea and glen 

'Till a stream attracted her, — 
"Oh !" she cried, "were I the stream, 
To steal away so like a dream !" 

The summer winds blew softly by, 

And Lelia stood by stream and bower ; 

Alas ! for her, the stream was dry, 
And withered was the lovely flower 

"Parched shores!" she cried, "and wasting stem, 

I'm glad I was not one of them !" 



17^ 



TO THE UNKNOWN. 

WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM. 

Fair lady, when you read these lines, 
With heart and brow from sorrow free, 

Think of the distant hand that twines 
This wreath, for Friendship and for thee. 

They are not Learning's living flowers 

That here for thee "The Stranger" weaves ; 

No gem from scientific bowers, 

May sparkle 'mid the fadeless leaves. 

Nor may its folds be studded o'er, 
With glittering jewels rare and fine 

Collected from the burning shore, 
Where proud Golconda's metals shine. 

My chaplet binds a rarer gem, 

Than all the mines of earth can bring ; 

The proudest monarch's diadem 
Boasts not a purer — fairer thing. 

'Tis Friendship — pearl of price unmeasured, 
That sparkles on the chaplet's rim, 

Fair lady — if the gift be treasured, 
The donor — sometimes think of him. 



WHO SHALL BE FIRST. 

Written immediately after the dedication of Green Mount Cemetery. 

Who shall be first in snowy shroud, 

To rest beneath the pall and plume ; — 
Silent amid the weeping crowd, 

A lonely tenant for the tomb ? 
Borne silently along the wood. 

Some lonely sleeper soon must be ; 
To rest in dreamless solitude, 

'Neath lowly shrub, or lofty tree. 

Who shall be first — the man of years, 

Or matron of the silv'ry crown ; — 
Who, tired of life — its toil and tears, 

Would gladly in the grave lie down? 
O many a head hath bowed in grief, 

That years have covered with their snow : 
And many a heart hath sought relief 

From care, the crumbling sod below. 

Who shall be first — the man of prime, 
The maiden cast in beauty's mould : 

Cut down in loveliness, ere Time 
But half their happy years had told ! 



200 WHO SHALL BE FIRST. 

Not manhood's strength, nor beauty's form, 
The tyrant's ruthless arm can stay : 

The heart where health beats high and warm, 
He humbles with its kindred clay. 

Who shall be first ? — the thoughtless youth, 

That boundeth o'er the grassy plain; 
Whose heart of innocence and truth, 

Hath never known guilt's gloomy stain ? 
From youthful cheeks, the ruddy glow 

Of blooming health, alas, may fade ; 
And lovely forms beneath the blow 

Of dark, relentless Death be laid. 

Who shall be first ? — the sinless one 

That sits upon its mother's knee ; 
Whose race of life is but begun, 

Alike from care and error free ? 
The cheek that ne'er hath blushed in guile, 

The lip that never knew deceit ; 
May blanch in death and wear the smile 

Of beauty, at the monster's feet. 

Who shall be first ? — who shall it be, 

That broken-hearted friends may weep 
While bearing to the cemetry, 

To leave in their last, lonely sleep? 
If from the happy throngs — or those 

The tempests of the world have driven, 
May all who here in peace repose, 

The first — the last — all meet in heaven. 



OUR HOPE 



How like a bright, illusive star, 

Doth human hope appear ? — 
A something shining from afar, 

Its brilliance always near. 
So clear around us beams the light, 

So palpable — so plain, 
That earnestly we gaze, a sight 

Of substance to obtain. 

Forth from the orbs, night's arch that stud, 

Unnumbered rays are given ; 
They mingle with the beauteous flood, 

That radiates from heaven ; 
A single planet may be paled, 

Other bright orbs amid ; 
Her disk by clouds may be enveiled, 

Or in the distance hid. 

Thus dimmed and darkened by the shades, 

That often intervene ; 
Our hope's deceitful lustre fades, 

Bright as it may have been. 
Yet to the false — the fading gleam, 

We cling while life may last : — 
Our all of happiness doth seem 

On the delusion cast. 



REST THEE, SLEEPER 



Rest thee, sleeper, — rest in peace ! 
Death's cold fetters now have bound thee, 

And his hand is on thy head ; 
Cold may be the earth around thee, 

And winds may sweep above thy bed, — 
Storms may weep their oceans o'er thee, 

Lightning terrors leap on high, 
But thou art safe ; — while we deplore thee, 

Angels lead thee through the sky. 

Rest thee, sleeper, — rest in peace ! 
Shadows of the grave have won thee, 

And the worm is at thy side ; 
Dust and darkness press upon thee ; — 

But God hath chose thee for his bride ; 
While the loved of earth may weep thee, 

Thou art free from every pain ; 
Jesus, best of friends, will keep thee, 

'Till thou shalt meet them all again. 



I WILL NOT MURMUR 



I will not murmur, — though my heart 

Is sorrowful and sore ; 
Affliction's depths within are stirred — 

The bitter waters pour. 
I weep not, though my sun of joy, 

That high its brilliance cast 
Upon my life, is faded now, 

And buried in the past. 

I will not murmur, — though my cup 

Of bliss, was full and bright ; 
But ere my lips had touched its rim, 

'Twas broken in my sight. — 
'Twas broken — and the brilliant flood 

With rainbow hues replete ; 
All glittering as it rolled away, 

Was wasted at my feet. 

I will not murmur, — that my hopes 
While struggling into bloom, 

Before they ripened into bliss, 
Were trophies for the tomb. 



204 I WILL NOT MURMUR. 

The wrecks are strewn o'er mind's dark stream, 

And rise before me now : 
They've left long furrows on my cheek, — 

Deep wrinkles on my brow. 

I will not murmur, — early friends 

Have fallen one by one, — 
Have slept the dreamless sleep of death 

And left me here alone. 
The tide of thronging memories, 

Is rushing through my mind ; 
Deep in my bosom's holy place 

The loved ones are enshrined. 

I will not murmur, — they have reached 

The regions of the blest ; 
The wicked cease from troubling there, — 

The weary are at rest. 
The bitter pains that pierced them here 

And wore their lives away, 
Reach not the pleasant fields on high, 

Through which they ever stray. 

I will not murmur, — high and full, 

Rolls Sorrow's ceaseless tide ; 
And bleeds my heart, as when my friends 

Were taken from my side. 
It needed not the rush of woes 

My wearied soul to bow ; 
I wept the loved ones when they fell, 

I kneel and weep them now. 



I WILL NOT MURMUR. '205 

I will not murmur, — the dear home, 

In youth I loved so well, 
Has faded — fallen to the dust, 

And ruin like a spell 
Is brooding o'er the pleasant shade, — 

The shining hall is dim ; 
The owl sits where the happy sung, 

And shrieks his evening hymn. 

I will not murmur, — voices sleep. 

Silent as death, and still ; 
That swept in music where the bats 

Now scream the requiem shrill 
O'er all the glories, gathered — gone, 

The gladness passed away; — 
Where is the lute — the harp — the song — 

The happy — where are they. 

I will not murmur — all I see 

Reminds me of the past ; 
The images of other years, 

Are marked on memory's waste. 
The garden shade with clustering grapes, 

And flowers blooming fair ! 
What is it now 1 — go ask the dead 

That slumber sweetly there. 



I will not murmur, — that they rest, 
Among the fruits and flowers, 

They loved so well, and cherished, when 
Life lent them rosy hours. 

18 



206 I WILL NOT MURMUR. 

Full many a summer zephyr sweet. 

Has sported in the shade, 
Since the fair cheeks they often fanned. 

In its deep peace were laid. 

I will not murmur, — withered leaves, 

By Autumn's breezes blown, 
Rustle the requiem o'er their rest, 

And wake the solemn moan 
Of Nature, for the sleeping throngs, 

That on her bosom lay — 
The lovely and the lonely dead, 

That in her arms decay. 

I will not murmur — bitter tears, 

Will soon be wiped away, 
And one more sleeper, in that shade 

His weary limbs shall lay. 
Roll on — roll on thou dreary life ! 

The last sad drops that wring 
From riven spirits here below, 

An endless peace may bring. 






FALL OF THE INDIAN WARRIOR. 



'Twas a dreary night and the storm roared loud, 
From the sky the lightning was gleaming; 

And fiercely it swept with the fiery cloud, 
O'er the height of the tempest streaming. 

It flashed in its might o'er the crimson plain, 
For a moment the red turf revealing; 

And leaving the field in its darkness again, 
The ravage of battle concealing. 

Manoreh's proud chieftains that day had bled 

And many an Indian spirit, 
Away in the midst of its glory had fled 

To the land their fathers inherit. 

Manoreh's young wife the battle shout' heard, 
Deep and wild was the spell that bound her ; 

She searched for her robe and spoke not a word, 
But fled as she gathered it round her. 

Elohama searched for the fated spot, 

Where shrill on the night-wind broke o'er her 

The groaning of hundreds, she heeded them not, 
But hurried away to Manoreh. 



208 FALL OF THE INDIAN WARRIOR. 

Weeping, she clasped to her bosom his form, 

As it Jay on the cold turf bleeding; 
The warmth of his body was chilled by the storm, 

And the coldness of death was succeeding. 

She laid her soft hand on his shivering brow, 
And up from the damp sod he started, 

Saying, "where are the braves — my stern warriors 
now, 
The tall, and the valiant-hearted. 

"Where is my war-horse," in anguish he cried, 
"That reared his proud mane in the battle? 

Swift from the hand of Manoreh he hied, 
I heard in his throat the death rattle. 

"Elohama kneel, the spirits have met, 
In the wide council-cloud they assemble ; 

A seat for his ghost in the midst they have set 
When Manoreh his last shall tremble." 

Elohama hung by the warrior's side, 
Chafed his temples haggard and gory ; 

She shrieked out her last with Manoreh and died 
With the chief on his turf-couch of glory. 



TO MY SISTER— JANE 



Why did you from the starry west, 

So like a stranger come, 
To spend a month with those you love — 

Friends of your early home ? 
A little month — how like a dream, 

Of loveliness it passed ? 
Visions of bliss the shadows were, 

Too beautiful to last. 

Why did you bring that cherub child, 

To win us with its charms, 
And when we loved it tenderly, 

To tear it from our arms ? 
'Tis hard to realize her loss, 

And oft when evening falls ; 
I startle yet as though I heard 

The little Fanny's calls. 

I seek her in the grapevine bower, 
And 'neath the plum trees' shade ; 

And through the garden where with her, 
Again a child I've played. 

18* 



210 TO MY SISTER JANE. 

I find her not, and from the place, 

In disappointment stray, 
To sit in solitude, and think 

Of Fanny — far away. 

Absence hath hours of deepest wo, 

For those that truly love ; 
And you its utter loneliness, 

As well as I may prove. 
I know my sister, that thy heart 

From care would sometimes steal, 
And seek, like mine, a solitude, 

Its bitterness to feel. 

But doubtless in thy distant home 

With those who love thee well ; 
There's pleasure that the heart may know, 

But tongue may never tell. 
And friends may cluster at your side, 

Among the sunny vales, 
Where flowers grow and odours waft 

Upon the evening gales. 

O what a thing omnipotent, 

A husband's love, — to gain 
From every other earthly tie, 

And the warm heart to chain — 
Of one so young, so full of hope, 

By friendships so entwined ; — 
"Twould seem almost a miracle 

A heart like thine to bind. — 



TO MY SISTER JANE. 211 

To win it from the years of love, 

And happiness, that shone 
The morning-light of life, to us, 

On childhood's thoughtless throne. 
'Tis little pleasure now to think 

That sterner years have come, 
With less of light, and less of love 

To lead us from our home. 

Fortune a cruel thing doth seem, 

A friendless ocean tide, — 
Where fretted billows intervene, 

The doating to divide. 
And many wrecks of buoyant hope, 

Among the wild waves roll ; 
They missed the star that started them, 

For Fortune's glittering goal. 

Thy sea has ne'er been stormy yet, 

Thy sky was always clear ; 
Nor has misfortune's chilling winds 

Thy gilded bark come near. 
O sister, may thy brilliant sun 

Up to the zenith rise — 
To shine in shadeless splendour there 

And set in cloudless skies. 



THE STUDENT'S BURIAL. 



Inscribed to the memory of George H. A. Ellison, of Washington, 
N. C, one of the senior class at the University of Maryland, in 1834. 



There lay the dead, and in his snowy robes, 
Seemed like ensculptured marble — pale and cold — 
And beautiful as the well finished work, 
Fresh from the artist's chissel, teeming there, 
With nature's high perfections, — all but life. 
But yesterday we looked upon his cheek, 
Wearing the flush of manhood, and his brow, 
Glowing in pride of intellectual strength ; — 
We heard his voice among us, and his laugh 
Rang merrily amid the happy group, 
That met for pastime in the lofty hall. 
And little deemed we, in that hour of joy, 
That Death's dark angel was so near our ranks, 
Sweeping his wing in silence o'er our heads ; — 
Little deemed we, that the bright cheek and brow 
Of him we loved as comrade and as friend, 
Should blanch within its shadow, — and the voice 
That cheered us with its mirth, be hushed and still. 



THE STUDENT'S BURIAL. *213 

We waited at his bier, a smitten band, 

And bitterly we wept his early fall, 

Wondering amid our sorrow at his side, 

That his proud spirit, ere it reached its prime. 

So like our own when happy, should thus soon, 

Forsake a form, so manlike in its youth, 

And leave it here to slumber in the dust. 

We gazed upon his features, as he lay, 

And then upon each other, and we thought 

How strange is death, with what mysterious power, 

He treads the busy avenues of life, 

Stealing the young amid their joys away. 

And bearing off the beautiful in their pride, 

To shadows deep and darkness of the grave. 

We stood, companions at the bier of death, 
But bore the hurt alone ; deeply we felt 
The humbling solitude of aching hearts 
Which turns away from fellowship and friends, 
And jealous of the gloom it would conceal, 
Preys like the fabled scorpion on itself. 
'Tis hard to bow the human spirit down 
In meek submission to the hidden grief 
Which channelleth its passages of wo 
Within the heart, and poureth waters there, 
That seethe in silence, and that flow not forth, 
To tell the depths of bitterness they hide. 

The moments swept ; — we noted not their flight, 
Nor heard their fall, — until the saddest came, 



214 the student's burial. 

And warned us to the lone and last adieu, 

That leaves the dead forever ; not a sound 

Disturbed the reigning silence, save the sighs, 

That gushed at intervals amid the gloom. 

Slowly the ranks divided, and there came 

With solemn pace, a light and graceful form,* 

That seemed to measure grief with every step. 

To breathe a sad farewell upon the dead, 

She sought a passage through the mournful crowd ; 

Like a fair spirit o'er the sheeted bier, 

She bent in meekness, and a moment stood 

Motionless as a statue, then she placed 

Her soft white hand upon the sleeper's breast, 

And gently twined her fingers in the robes 

That spread in snowy folds upon his form. 

Sweet minister of mercy, at his couch, 

In the brief hour of sickness, she had stood, 

And watched with anxious care his swift decline ; 

In the still midnight, she had knelt beside 

The patient sufferer, and her fair hand 

Had bathed his fevered lips, and wiped away 

The last cold sweat drops from his sinking brow. 

She closed his eyes in death, and on his cheek 

Before the throng whose sympathies were her's, 

The last sad offering of her pity shed. 

"'Tis over now," she sighed, and turned. away, 

And as she hurried from the sacred place, 



* Sister Ambrosia ; — one of the Sisters of Charity in attendance at the 
Baltimore Infirmary. 



THE STUDENT'S BURIAL. 215 

Her lips were quivering in the faithful prayer, 
That his departed soul might be at rest. 

The sun's departing rays had gilt the clouds 

That hung in beauty o'er his sinking crown, 

And twilight shades were gathering o'er the grave ; 

The winds were still, and Nature seemed to wait 

In calm and silence of respectful awe, 

As might a mother 'till the child she loved, 

And whose untimely fall she sorely wept, 

Were placed in slumber, on her peaceful breast. 

Beneath the branches of a fading tree, 

Whose yellow leaves were scattered on the ground, 

Emblem of his own premature decay, 

Upon the bosom of his mother earth, 

We gently laid, and left him ; there to sleep. 

In the deep peace of death ; no more to wake, 

Until the beauteous heavens are no more, 

And bloom and beauty from the flow'ry earth 

Fade in the cheerless winter of the tomb. 

The solemn rites pronounced, we turned away, 

And left our comrade in the dust of death ; 

And while his seat is vacant in the hall, 

He sleepeth sweetly in his humble rest. 

No more his voice among us may be heard, — 

His Alma Mater is the dreary grave ; 

In her deep solitude he must remain, 

Until her vast Alumni at the bar 

Of the Eternal Judge on high, shall meet, 

To gain their honors for his kingdom high, 

Or hear their doom for everlasting death. 



SUMMER EVE. 



How sweet is the hour of eve when it sheds, 

Its shades and soft hues o'er the sky ? 
On the last red gleam of the day it treads, 
O'er the hills and the heart, its twilight spreads, 

And thought gushes wild and free ; 
We dream of the deeds and the days gone by, — 
Of pleasures and perils unburied that lie, 
Though faded forever they be. 

1 gaze on the world, in this beautiful hour, 

And think as the shadows appear, 
How often the sun and the freshening shower 
Gave fragrance and life to the bud and the flower. 

Which suddenly bloom and decay, — 
How all that is loved and prized by us here, 
Come like the flowers — a dull moment to cheer, 

Then pass like an evening away. 

The daylight of life grows dim in the west 

When the evening of age comes on : 
The sun and the shower, go down to their rest, 
And the hues, our cheeks in their prime that drest, 

Grow weary of reigning, and leave 
The paleness of death upon their fair throne; — 
I would when the glories of life are all gone, 
Pass away like a calm summer eve. 



HUMAN GLORY. 



A glimmering star is human glory 

Rising but to set again; 
Fading like some fabled story, 

Pictured on a dreamer's brain. 
It comes in pride, its lustre throwing, 

O'er the sky of life to sweep : 
Awhile in light and beauty glowing, 

Sinking into darkness deep. 

Where are prophets — kings and sages. 

Who have trod the paths of fame ? 
Crumbled in the dust of ages, 

Living only now in name. 
Side by side the great are sleeping, 

Cold the wasting turf beneath ; 
History alone is keeping 

Titles, deeds, and names, from death. 

Where are they who lived when Science 
Burst the fetters of the mind ? 

At the tyrants hurled defiance, 

Who had dared enslave mankind ! — 

19 



218 HUMAN GLOB F. 

Where the men whose chainless spirits, 
Soared, as to high worlds of bliss ? — 

Seized the treasures mind inherits, 
Brought them down as spoils to this ? 

Arts in orient climes that flourished, 

Kings that owned their mighty sway, 
Genius and the friends that cherished 

Its high efforts, — where are they ? 
Buried in their ruin splendid, 

Fragments scattered far and wide ; — 
Palaces and prisons blended, 

Tell how greatness lived and died. 

Pile on pile, her strength combining, 

Architecture raised her head ; 
Elegance and grace entwining, 

O'er the living and the dead. 
Then in her success uprearing, 

Her beauteous crown she sought to steep 
I n the clouds on high careering, 

Which above her glories weep. 

Many a hero, earth has numbered, 

Boasted of their deeds and name ; 
In their glory they have slumbered, — 

Perished 'mid their sounding fame. 
From the common masses singled, 

Honored with command they were ; 
Their monuments with them have mingled 

In the dusty sepulchre. 



HUMAN GLORY. 219 

Ancient cities, Time has humbled, 

Ruins mingle throne and tomb ; 
Grecian greatness long has crumbled, 

On her gates is written — 'Doom.' 
Lovely temples once were laving 

Their tall summits in the sun ; — 
Over them the cypress waving 

Tells us what that doom has won. 

Athens seemed a nymph reposing, 

On a mount of stainless snow ; — 
Beauties unsurpassed disclosing 

To the world that watched below. 
Her marble in the sunlight flashing 

Dazzled from her spotless brow ; 
But the ruin-waves came dashing, 

And the gloom is on her now. 

Sparta in her beauty rising, 

Sent her fame o'er earth and sea ; 
Thebes came up the world surprising, — 

Shone a moment brilliantly. 
Like the stars those cities hurried 

To the zenith — down the west, 
Now in utter darkness buried 

Safely in its shades they rest. 

Rome arose a meteor sweeping 
Swiftly o'er the wond'ring world ; 

In tears and blood her banner steeping, 
Nations from their thrones, she hurled. 



220 HUMAN GLORY. 

And to gain her boasted treasure, 
Seas of human blood she spilt ; 

Soon she filled the shining measure 
Of her glory and her guilt. 

Where is Rome ? and where her heroes ? 

Varied jewels in her crown ! 
Her Numas loved, and hated Neros, 

With her to the dust went down. 
Long have leaning columns pointed 

To the bare and barren sod — 
Plains by Caesar's blood anointed 

Where he once in triumph trod. 

Who to Nineveh shall render 

Praise, for might her kings arrayed ? 
Ruthless Time hath all her splendor, 

In eternal sackcloth laid. 
And Babylon w r ith her hanging bowers, 

Rising sweetly o'er the plain, 
Has faded like her world of flowers, 

And may never bloom again. 

Egypt in her beauty glowing, 

Once the pride of half the world ; 
In honor and in wealth o'erflowing, 

Was from her high station hurled, — 
Now the palace, low is blending 

With the worn and wasted soil, 
And the obelisk is bending 

To the ravager — a spoil. 



HUMAN GLORY. 221 

Persia, with her monarchs glorious, 

Glowing in their robes of gold, 
Rushing on a time victorious — 

Has her tale of triumph told. 
Cambyses like a raging billow, 

Swept o'er mountains of the dead ; 
Darius scarce could find a pillow 

For his crownless — aching head. 

And Tyre glittering on the mountain, 

Like a jewel in the air, 
Delightful while the flower and fountain 

Sported in their beauty there ; — 
Gone are all the joys that crowned her, 

Dry is every pleasant stream; 
And the owls that gathered round her, 

Her's and Sidon's dirges scream. 

Capernaum that her prowess boasted, 

Raised to heaven her gilded brow ; 
Of her gems and gold exhausted 

Lies as low as Sodom now. 
Like the scenes of fabled story, 

Glimmering on a dreamer's brain, 
The flashes come of human glory, — 

Fade to nothingness again. 



19* 



TO WEEP. 



To seek some wild — some lonely shade, 

When night's dim shadows lower ; 
And darkness like a pall is spread 

O'er every tree and flower ; — 
As if unconscious of the gloom, 

That thickens round thee there ; 
To feel thou art a thing of doom 

Low sinking in despair. 

Far from the busy world to steal, 

To some untrodden grot; 
The gush of burning woes to feel, 

Scarce wishing they were not. 
To stand in the dark solitude 

And feel the warm tears start ; 
Channelling in grief the bitter flood 

Wrung from an aching heart. 

To stand beside the bier of one, 

Loved tenderly and long ; 
And fancy thou'rt in grief alone 

Amid the weeping throng. — 



HOME. 223 

O none the bitterness may know, 

That scalds the weary breast, 
Through which the hidden waters flow, 

That will not — cannot rest. 

To measure disappointment's tide, 

Through dreary years of pain, — 
See prospects blighted — thrown aside, 

Never to bloom again — 
O'er bruised and buried hopes to brood, 

While scalding sorrows sweep 
A ceaseless and exhaustless flood — 

O this, — this is to weep. 



HOME. 



Were you ever out on the foaming billow, 
Stationed on some tall ship's prow, 

Or snugly stowed on your hammock pillow, 
Thinking of home, as I do now ? 

if you were, you have wept I know, 

When you thought of the loved you left behind 

Your tears have mingled with waves below, 
Your sighs with the high and heedless wind. 



THE BATTLE MONUMENT 



Erected in memory of the brave defenders of Baltimore, who fell in 
the battle of September 12th, 1814 



Marble remembrancer, 
And volume of enduring history, 
Writ for the nations ; kings the pages read, 
And turn in terror from the stern reproof, 
That stares the trembling despot in the teeth, 
And stings the fierce oppressor to the soul. 
The doom of diadems is in thy frown, 
And regal pride doth melt like wax away 
Before the splendors of that living flame, 
Which Nature — First Republic from her throne 
Of light eternal in her glorious heaven, 
Is ever pouring on thy honored head. 

A beacon thou of Freedom — bright and pure, — 
A Parian way-mark on the road that leads 
From the low shades of servitude and shame, 
Up to the sun-lit realm of Liberty. — 
That realm of equal principles and rights, 
Where princely robes no precedence receive ; 
And lords hereditary, never crave 
High claims to credit for their fathers' worth. 



THE BATTLE MONUMENT. 225 

No proud escutcheonry its glitterance shows — 
Dating the risings of a noble race, 
From some ignoble deed ; nor titles there, 
But such as Honor to her votaries gives ; 
And these, more brilliant than the jewelled palm 
Are won and worn by virtue. — Nations yet 
Courage may seek, and confidence from thee, 
As forth they spring from Despotism's thrall, 
To walk the flowery terrace of the Free. 

The terror thou of tyrants ; — on thy rim 

Is written with the pen of steel, and thou 

Wilt ever bear its tracery of blood — 

"Resistance to the base usurper's law." 

The rights of men — their consecrated rights, 

Chartered by heaven and inalienable, 

Are chisselled on thy chaplet, — thou dost bear 

Witness of their anointing, and the blood 

That sprinkles thee in baptism, hath reared up 

A mighty battlement around these shores ; 

More firm than walls of adamantine strength, — 

More durable than marble, — a tower high, 

Built of affection, that may never fall. 

The mountain's granite crown, fierce storms may 

wear, 
And ever rolling waves may waste the rocks, 
'Till they become as nothing ; but the winds, 
Nor sweeping waves, nor Time's eternal tooth, 
May touch the deeds affection makes her own. 



226 THE BATTLE MONUMENT. 

The tale ensculptured on thy snowy frieze, 
Memory's immortal finger hath enscribed 
On hearts unnumbered, the high fortress now 
Of fadeless liberty forever fixed. 

Temple of Freedom ! in thy courts inurned, 

Are deathless deeds — done by the patriot band, 

That perilled life in the all-hallowed cause 

Of human right, they perished to sustain. 

While their enlaurelled heads in peace repose 

On glory's banners in the soldier's rest, 

Their names in golden blazonry appear 

Upon the fillet that entwines thy shaft, 

Binding the rods that beautifully close 

The marble fasces, as their blood cements 

The fabric fair of Freedom, which no thing 

Beneath the jewelled canopy may part. 

Deeds are the offspring of immortal mind, 

And like their sire, immortal, — they remain, 

When the proud heads that planned, — and hearts — 

and hands 
That brought them into being, sleep in dust, 
Cold as the cenotaph that tells them o'er. 

Fame hath her tongues of power ; in trumpet tones 

They tell of the departed, whose renown 

Is worthy of memorial ; heroes fall, 

The marble o'er their ashes proudly stands, 

As if its silent eloquence would bear 

Their tale of valor to the lofty skies ; 



THE BATTLE MONUMENT. 227 

And while they sleep, youths cluster at the slab 

To read of greatness, and indulge the thrill 

That Patriotism sends through every vein: 

And age bends o'er the spot to feel anew 

The fevered pulses of its earlier years. 

The young blood tingles at the lightning touch. 

And longs for scenes of glorious enterprise, 

To test the sternness of its rising strength; 

And leaps the hoary heart with joy again, 

Struck in its feebleness, with quickening fire — 

Flashing in beauty from the soldier's urn. 

Thus, have the dead a voice ; — from the cold stone 

It speaks in words of more than mystery, 

And swift obedience claims from every heart. 

Thou art a sentinel, standing amid 

Civil contentions, and the waves have rolled 

In party feuds around thy lovely plinth ;* 

But they have fallen harmless ; light from thee 

In the fierce moment of commotion wild, 

Hath flashed, and all was peace. Still stand thou 

there, 
And when the voice of faction is upraised, 
If e'er it may be, frown it from thy base. 
And may the goddess of the city stand 
Forever in the sunlight on thy shaft, 
Wearing her mural crown, and holding high 
The laurel wreath which in her hand she bears. 

* Tow n hum tings, and those for party purposes, are generally held in 
Monument Square. 



DEATH AND THE WARRIOR. 

Siward, a celebrated warrior of the reign of Edward the Confessor — 
the same who had gained a lasting immortality for his name by becom. 
ing the destroyer of the infamous Macbeth — when he found his death 
approaching, ordered his attendants to clothe him in a suit of complete 
armour, and support him on his couch in the open field, with his shield 
on his arm and his spear in his hand. "In this position," said he, "the 
only one worthy of a warrior, I will meet the tyrant ; if I cannot con- 
quer I will at least face the combat." 

Bring me the warrior's iron-bound vest, 
That I wore in my youthful prime ; — 

The metal well-tempered that shielded my breast, 
In my deeds of the olden time. 

In hours of conflict, it covered me well, 
And unscathed I have stood in the fight; 

Though showers of iron that around me fell, 
Seemed to sweep with the whirlwind's might. 

Armies before me were scattered like hail, 
And war-fields, were strewed with the slain : 

O ! were I young, how I'd brighten my mail, 
And away to the battles again ! 

My brain grows wild when I think of the days 
When the race with the mighty I run ; — 

When my head was crowned with the warrior's bays, 
For the ghvy my valor had won. 



DEATH AND THE WARRIOR. 229 

Those days have departed, so full of my fame, 
And though now of my strength I am shorn, 

Their light and their lustre encircles my name. 
And all brilliant through time shall be borne. 

Bring the helmet, as stern as a soldier's truth. 

That I bound to my boyish brow ; 
For I was a soldier, fearless in youth, 

Am a soldier as fearless now. 

There's an infidel's blood on that helmet's rim, 
That I drew with the well aimed blow 

Of my good right arm, when I hurried him 
To his home in the regions below. 

O! the loftiest chief on the battle plain, 
Was the chief I strove to brinsj down : 

And reeking in gore from the hearts of the slain, 
I have stood with my foot on his crown. 

He writhed in his agony under my feet, 
Ere he gasped out his quivering breath ; 

He sneered at me then, and his scorn it was sweet. 
For it curled on his dark lip in death. 

Bind fast to my wrist my old war-shattered shield, 
That I threw on the lance of my foe, 

When he aimed in his mi^ht on the battle field 
At my bosom the death dealing blow. 



20 



230 DEATH AND THE WARRIOR. 

This arm in its strength could a host subdue, 

And armies to conquest it led ; 
Whole nations unnumbered that overthrew, 

And pyramids built of the dead. 

I am toil-worn now and tortured with pains, 
And shorn of my strength and my skill ; 

The current of life travels slow in my veins, 
But my spirit is conquerless still. 

The sunlight of youth from the years of the past, 

Is beaming in brilliancy now ; 
The glory unfading — that ever may last, 

Shines full on my war-beaten brow. 

Bear my old form on its couch to yon shore, 
'Neath the bright and beautiful sky ; 

Let me look on the sun and the sea once more, 
And then like a warrior die. 

Stern Death I have dared in the fierce war-storm, 

Where he laid his myriads low; 
And now that I'm old, and enfeebled my form, 

I'll fall with my face to my foe. 



THE DRUNKARD'S TOAST. 



One bumper mure, come fill it up ! — 

Up to the gilded rim ! 
By all my hopes were pledged the cup, 

To Death, — I'd drink to him. 

They say he's lurking in the wine, 

That runs so red and clear : 
Then let me drink, the deed is mine, 

I'll conquer cup and fear. 

The warrior on the tented field, 

That fights to win a name, 
Before him holds the brazen shield, 

That mocks the sabre's aim. 

But here unharnessed and unhelmed, 

I stand my cup beside ; 
I think of thousands overwhelmed, 

And quaff its radiant tide. 

What though a mother's voice should call, 

And curse me for the deed ; 
Like idle wind the words would fall, 

I've other things to heed. 



232 the drunkard's toast. 

What though the bitterness and tears, 

Of her I've sworn to love, 
Should tell the joys of other years, 

Dost think my heart would move ? 

Nor wife's lament, nor mother's wail, 
Nor murdered children's moan ; 

Could make this valiant spirit fail, 
It moves for rum alone. 

Delightful drop ! I love thee well, 

Before thee, here I bow ; 
I'd drink thee if the flames of hell 

Were dancing on thee now. 

Come on my boys ! 'tis sparkling bright, 
Ha ! how it thrills me through ; 

Hurra ! I'm swimming in delight, 
Cup ! here's a health to you. 

Fill up again, — were souls my gift, 

I'd give them for my cup ; 
And did the dregs damnation lift, 

I'd drink the latest drop. 



WE PASS AWAY 



Why do the lovely flowers so soon 

Grow pale and fade 1 
The bright — the beautiful at noon, 

At eve are dead. 

And why do pleasant moments fly 

So swift away '( 
A few short years go gladly by 

And we are grey. 

The blossoms in the shower and sun, 

Rear their heads high, 
But soon their brilliant race is run, — 

They droop and die. 

And like the lovely flowers, awhile 

On earth we bloom ; — 
Pass through the change of tear and smile 

Down to the tomb. 



20* 



DEATH WAS AT THE FEAST 



I stood before the pictured walls, 

A sad and gloomy guest, 
Though hundreds through the lighted halls, 

Joined in the giddy feast. 

Light hearts met on the mansion floor, 

And sounds of joy pealed high ; 
But e'er that night of mirth was o'er, 

The wildest wished it by. 

Gay ones skipped through the dancing room, 

With light and playful tread ; 
Cheeks were flushed with the goblet's bloom,- 

Lips in its light were red. 

Filled to the brim was the shining cup, 

Its vapory fumes rose high ; 
Its gilded edge to the lip was up, — 

Its sparkling in the eye. 

And when the cup had passed around, 

Then came the thrilling song ; 
Sweet voices with enchanting sound, 

The wild notes bore alone:. 



DEATH WAS AT THE FEAST. 235 

Hours flew swift through the glittering hall, 

Like meteors on the wind ; 
The bright came first at the festival. 

The gloomy were left behind. 

Where are the flowers that bound the brow. 

Of the beautiful and gay ? 
Alas ! the flowers have withered now — 

The beautiful passed away. 

And where are the lips that moved in sung ?— 
The hearts that danced in delight ? 

A cloud passed over the sporting throng, 
And left ih its rear a blight. 

No parting bowl to the brim was filled.. 

Music ceased on the air; 
The cup fell o'er and the wine was spilled, 

For trembling hearts were there. 

I hurried from the hall alone. 

With a burning on my breast ; 
For mournful songs came rolling on, 

And Death was at the Feast. 



THE DEAD CHILD 



"She clasped the dead infant to her heart, and carried it for days, and 
when at last the sailors determined to cast it into the sea, they were 
obliged to steal it from her arms while she slept." — Stories of the Sea. 

Fresh blew the breeze, the bounding barque, 
Went lightly o'er the shining sea ; 

The shoutings of the joyous crew, 
Swept with the breezes merrily. 

The sturdy seamen proudly strode 

The deck floors of their strong sea-home ; 

As gaily o'er the waves they sped, 
Awhile in distant lands to roam. 

'Twas joy to watch the wild sea-foam, 

Tossing upon the billows' crest; 
Then sinking in the sea away, 

Like pearls upon the ocean's breast. 

'Twas joy to watch the white-caps rise, 
And roll in myriads on the deep ; — 

To see the sea-birds in their glee, 
Above the swelling surges sweep. 



THE DEAD CHILD. 287 

For days the bark went proudly on, 
Then with the rolling of the surge, 

Arose a fearful wail that seemed 
The swelling of an ocean dirge. 

Shrill o'er the winds and waves, it swept 

In sorrow's accents, sad and low, 
And seamen, w T ith suspicious looks, 

Asked, who should sleep the depths below. 

What means the sea-bird's solemn shriek 

As wildly on the wind she flies ? 
The monsters of the deep are near, 

That follow when a messmate dies. 

The troubled tars stood all aghast, — 
The wail of death was on the seas ; 

It swept below, — 'twas heard on high — 
It came on every passing breeze. 

Slowly and solemnly the crew 
Their long accustomed labors bore, 

Though they with merry hearts had done 
The same, a few short hours before. 

Although upon the mighty sea, 

No tempest could their souls subdue ; 

They gazed in dread upon the waves 
And startled wheu the low winds blew. 



238 THE DEAD CHILD. 

The stout commander paced his room, 
x\nd pondered in his burning thought 

The scene of dark astonishment, 

That had such wild forebodings wrought. 

"All hands on deck !" he sternly cried, 
And hardy crew and ladies fair, 

With terror in their hearts and eyes, 
Rushed suddenly around him there. 

"Where is the dead? what sea-worm form, 

Or figure of the gentle maid 
Is wasting here and soon must in 

Its winding-sheet of waves be laid ? 

"Search for the sleeper, high and low, 
Search for the pale and fallen brow, 

That far away from home and friends, 
In death's deep gloom reposes now ?" 

The barque was swept from bow to stern, 
The search, the sturdiest onward led ; 

None in the hold or hatches slept, 

And still the wail was, "where's the dead?" 

Amid the crowd a mother moved, 

Whose heart of grief the scene had wrung ; 

Close to her breast she clasped her babe, 
And hurried through the throng and sung. 



THE DEAD CHILD. 239 

She searched as if her soul's best hopes 
Were buried in some deep recess ; 

She would have wept but had no tears, 
Her speechless sorrow to express. 

She shrunk from those around, and gazed 
With anxious meaning on each eye; 

And clinging closer to the child. 
To soothe it, sung the lullaby. 

The cherub minded not the song, 
Nor felt the hearings of the breast 

That held it from the heedless waves ; — 
Its little soul had flown to rest. 

And days passed on ere from that heart, 
The lowly sleeper might be moved ; 

The mother could not give the sea 
The little idol that she loved. 

Wearied with watching, on the shrouds 
When the worn mother bowed in sleep ; 

They stole her angel from her arms, 
And gave it to the rolling deep. 



SAD WHEN ALONE. 

Inscribed to the fair friend who said she was never happy except in 
company 

There's laughter in my eye I know, 

And bloom upon my cheek ; 
But sadly riven is my heart, 

And beats as if 'twould break. 
'Tis true with pearls I bind my brow, 

And braid my raven hair ; 
But in my heart is raging now, 

The fever of despair. 

I mingle with the giddy throng, 

And like a bird I sing ; 
And in the wildering dance I move, 

A light and lively thing. 
I'm always gay 'mid laughing crowds, 

On Pleasure's tide that roll : 
But ah ! they little know the pain, 

That pierces to the soul. 

Alone, I love to watch my flowers, 

And weep to see them fade ; 
They flourish in the morning sun, 

And wither in the shade. 



THE DEAD. 241 

I see them fall, and often think, 

How like my heart they are, 
Wearing high hope, 'mid happy friends, 

But when alone — despair. 

My hopes are shadows of a dream, 

That glitter as they fly ; 
And I am but a fading flower, 

To bloom awhile and die. 
O when I leave this world of change, 

I would that I might go, 
Where friends remain in happy crowds, 

And fadeless flowers grow. 



THE DEAD. 



Life's fitful fever done, they sleep 
Securely on the green earth's breast 

No pain may e'er assail them there, 
Nor care disturb their sacred rest. 

Worms feed upon their wasting clay 
That slumbers in the little space ; 

And few they leave behind them here, 
E'er envy them their resting place. 



21 



UNBELIEF. 



Look forth upon the glorious sun, 

That swims yon sea of blue ! 
For ages he hath shone as bright, 

As beautiful, as true. 
Ask him if he assumed his strength, 

And sprung upon his throne ; 
And if he means, through ages yet, 

To roll in light alone. 

Go ! when at eve the pale moon throws 

Her silver o'er the sea ; 
And sheds her mild and mellowed light 

O'er mountain, vale and lea ; 
And ask her if by chance she rose 

Upon the deep blue sky, 
Or if the power of God hath fixed 

Her orbit upon high. 

Go ! when the night her dusky veil 
O'er half the world hath spread ; 

And gaze upon the starry troops 
That sparkle overhead ; 



UNBELIEF. 243 

And ask them if blind accident 

Doth regulate their laws; 
Or if they move at the command 

Of God, their "great first cause." 

Go ! stand upon the ocean sands, 

Where winds and waters meet, 
While zephyrs play about thy head, — 

Light surges at thy feet, 
Ask of the breeze that listeth by, 

And of the bounding wave, 
Who sent them forth in mystery ? — 

If chance their beings gave ? 

Go ask yon oak, whose branches move 

Majestic on the breeze, 
Who placed him there in pride to reign, 

A prince among the trees. 
And ask the vine, whose tendrils clasp 

The monarch's sturdy form, 
Why she doth cling so closely there, 

In sunshine and in storm. 

At evening, when the world is still, 

Bend on the flowery sod ; 
And list the anthem, growing things 

Are sending up to God. 
And ask, why mute thy soul should be, 

'Mid Nature's thankful throng; — 
Ask why thou hast no notes of praise 

To mingle with their song. 



244 dust. 

Go scomer, when the lightnings flash 

Their lurid flames abroad ; 
And when the rolling thunders speak 

The goings forth of God ; 
Go ! ask thy faithless, failing heart, 

Why, in that awful hour, 
If God's great name it doth despise, 

It trembles at his power ? 



DUST. 



Receptacle of nations ! in thy gloom 

Kings and their subjects peacefully repose, 

Nor dream of weariness, nor gilded ease. 

Like stars on Time's horizon, mighty men, 

Arise in power and in majesty, 

Moving in their glory and their strength 

Upon the shifting winds of circumstance, 

Which smoothly glide, or in fierce tempests sweep ; 

They gather greatness in their upward flight, 

And from the burning zenith pass to death, 

Where all distinction must forever fade ; 

What though 'tis said, "here Alexander sleeps ?"— 

Or "there Napoleon V — all are dust. 



BEAR OUT THE DEAD. 



Bear out the dead! 
Stay ! 'tis thy father's form that lies 
Now before thy streaming eyes ; 

See round his head — 

How light is laid 
The wreath of death, how dark its gloom ? 
My father's form ! God of the just ! 

I had rather, 
Give my own body to the dust, 

Than my father 
Should now be carried to the tomb ; 
But around his withering brow 
The lines of death have gathered now ; — 

Bear out the dead ! 

Bear out the dead ! 
Stay yet again ! thy mother's form, 
Soon shall feed the worthless worm ; 

Behold how deep, — 

How still her sleep ! 
How limitless is death's control ? 
21* 



246 BEAR OUT THE DEAD. 

My mother's form ! O ! 'tis unkind 

To take my mother, 
My first, my last, my dearest friend ; — 

I would not smother 
Feelings now that wring my souL 
How pale she looks ? the monster's hold 
Is on her heart — her cheek how cold ? 
Bear out the dead ! 

Bear out the dead ! 
It is thy brother, once so fair, 
That now in death lies sleeping there ; 

The soul has fled 

And with the dead, 
Safe the body sleeps, and lone. 
My only brother ! spare my heart, 

There is no other, 
From whom it is so hard to part ; 

O my brother ! 
Best beloved, and art thou gone 1 
Death has marred both cheek and brow, 
The corse is hideous to me now ; — 

Bear out the dead ! 

Bear out the dead ! 
It is the sister of tlry love — 
The beautiful companion dove, 

Though years of youth — 

Of guileless truth 
And gentleness, that passed with thee. 
My sister ! — she I loved so well ! 



BEAR OUT THE DEAD. 247 

And now so pale ? 
O who the reft heart's woes may tell ? — 

The rending wail 
Of sorrow, and the cemetery ? 
Alas her life ! how bright — how brief? 
She faded like spring's early leaf: 

Bear out the dead ! 

Bear out the dead ! 
It is thy child lies sleeping there, 
How white its little face and fair I 

'T has past the bourne 

Whence none return ; 
A stranger now to grief and pain. 
My child ! O God my heart will break ! 

My head is wild ! 
O cruel, cruel Death to take 

Away that child ; 
O give me back my babe again ! 
But one more look, my last request, 
Now bear it to its lonely rest. 

Bear out the dead ! 



THE WEARY CRUSADER. 



Away — away with the plume and crest ! — 

Away with the glittering spear ! 
And bear me back to my beautiful west, 

For I'm hungry and perishing here. 

take from my bosom, this vest of steel, — 
From my wrist, these brazen bands ! 

And my shrinking flesh once more let me feel, 
With my shrivelled and sunburnt hands. 

Away — away with the warrior's fame ! — 

Away with his brilliant hopes now ! 
I've labored for glory and gained a proud name, 

But the cold earth pillows my brow. 

1 forsook the green hills of my own bright land, 

And the valleys all blooming and fair, 
I have passed o'er the sea, — through the desert sand, 
And here I must die in despair. 

Away — away with the gilded star ! — 

Away with the lance I have borne ! 
To gaze on the home of my heart afar, 

I'd give the high honors I've worn. 



TO THE POTOMAC. 249 

Of what avail are my tears and toil, 

And the blood that my hands have shed ? 

The bones of my comrades cover the soil, 
And the Turk stalks over the dead, i 

Away — away with the shout that rung, 

"We swear in the name of God 
To hang the Cross where the Crescent hung, 

Though its staff should be stained with blood/' 
Henceforth wave the Cross o'er the christian land, 

Let the Crescent o'er this be unfurled, 
'Till the banner of God in his own right hand 

Shall be waved o'er a wondering world. 



TO THE POTOMAC. 



Beautiful river ! on thy buoyant waves, 

How many fleets have floated, and how oft 

The loud "Yo heave" has echoed from thy shores, 

As the old sailor ncared his happy home, 

That like a bower rested on thy banks, 

And sung for very gladness at the thought 

Of hailing those he loved — his wife — his child — 

From whom the waves had parted him so long. 



THE PLOUGH-BOY. 



The sun looks over the mountain now, 
I must be out and after my plough ; 
Old Heather-hill must be broken to-day, 
With my bonny steeds I must away, — 
O how I'll make them fly, 
Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry, 
While others sleep, 
My song shall sweep — 
O'er Heather-hill so high ; 
Gee up a hoy ! 
I'll shout with joy ; 
The sound shall reach the sky. 

There's not a cloud to be seen all around, 
In a twinkle I'll be on the ground ; 
And plough each furrow to a line, 
With my bonny steeds drest up so fine, — 
O how I'll make them fly, 
Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry ; 
And crack my whip, 
The steeds shall skip, 
Like wind the heather by, — 
Gee up a hoy ! 
There's not a boy 
Can shout as loud as I. 



THE PLOUGH-BOY. 251 

How oft I've played on old Heather-side 
While soft winds blew in their summer tide ; 
My play-ground must to the ploughshare swell, 
Drawn by the steeds I love so well ; 
O how I'll make them fly, 
Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry, 
While every break 
The plough shall make, 
Will bring tears to my eye. 
Gee up a hoy, 
My song of joy, 
Each note shall draw a sigh. 

If I plough that hill from hedge to end 
I mar the face of a faithful friend ; 
And sadly I'll drive each furrow through, 
With the finest steeds that ever drew, — 
O how I'll make them fly, 
Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry 

Though tears like rain, 
Pour down amain, 
The song shall swell full high. 
Gee up a hoy ! 
No thing shall cloy 
The strains that woes defy. 

But soon on the hill we'll sow the grain, 
The suns of spring and the summer rain 
Will throw on its breast a robe of green, — 
They're the finest steeds that ever were seen : 

O how I'll make them fly, 

Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry. 



252 THE PLOUGH-BOY. 

Though tears may drop, 

I'll plough in hope 
Of happier days by and by ; 

Gee up a hoy ! 

Though woes annoy, 
When pleasure comes they fly. 

Gee up a hoy ! 'tis the song I love, 
Deep in my heart are its notes inwove ; 
Should manhood lead me to other climes, 
I'll think of my bonny steeds sometimes ; 
O how I'll make them fly, 
Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry ; 
Through many a year 
The song as clear 
With life and me shall hie, — 
Gee up a hoy ! 
The song of joy 
Shall never, never die. 

And if in distant lands I fall, 
Far from my home my friends and all ; 
One thought shall pass from my bed of death 
To the steeds I loved 'till my latest breath, — 
O how I'll make them fly, 
Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry ; 
My boyish song 
Shall be borne along 
With the breezes as they fly. 
Gee up a hoy ! 
Will lips employ, 
When low in death am I. 



TO ALEXZENA. 



I came, the stranger of an hour, 

To thy ancestral shade ; — 
Wandered awhile where tree and flower 

Their loveliness displayed. 

The fields, late blooming with the grain, 

Still wore the golden hue 
That summer suns, and summer showers 

Over their bosoms threw. 

Reapers adown their yellow sides, 
Their glittering scythes had swung; 

And happy hearts exultingly, 
The harvest home had sung. 

Seasons of beauty, yet to come, 

May Alexzena know ; 
And pass amid her peaceful bowers 

A bright sojourn below. 

And when about her flowery walks 

Her feet may cease to rove, 
O may she meet her loved, and shout 

The harvest home above. 
22 



TO CHARLOTTE 



THE PA S T. 

Charlotte ! Time is onward rolling 
To the past's unbounded sea ; 

The knell of moments, ever tolling, 
Warn us of eternity. 

In gloom or shine the stream is pouring. 

Swift in calm as stormy blast ; 
Unnumbered ages safely storing 

In the ocean of the past. 

Life, upon the rapid river, 
With the current rolls away ; 

Doomed its millions to deliver, 
Where Time's richest ruins lay. 

All the pride and shame of ages, 
Earthly honours, false and true ; 

Folly's crowds and Wisdom's sages 
Pass into that ocean too. 



TO CHARLOTTE. 255 

Wealth and worth and worthless creatures, 

Rich in fame, or in disgrace ; — 
Beauteous forms and haggard features, 

Throng that all absorbing place. 

Men of ignorance and learning, 

Meet upon the boundless plain ; 
Kings and those — all titles spurning, 

Mingle in the mighty train. 

Conquerors and conquered greeting, 

To their equal home repair ; 
Lords and slaves each other meeting, 

Level all distinction there. 

Earth's varied millions, all must travel, 

To that resting place for man ; 
And there the mysteries unravel, 

Which on earth they cannot scan. 

Time's restless tide is ever rolling, 

To the past's unbounded sea ; 
The knell of moments ever tolling, 

Charlotte, — warn both you and me. 



A SAD HOUR. 



O no I am not happy now, 

My days of joy have fled; 
And I've no place of peace whereon 

To rest my weary head. 

The hopes I hallowed when my life 

Was calm as summer sea, 
Were withered by some tempest wind, 

And blighted came to me. 

Like stars, in the rich light of youth 
They strewed the orient o'er ; — 

Like stars they hurried to their west, 
And set to rise no more. 

I gazed upon them, when afar, 

All radiantly they shone ; 
Alas that they should fade and fall, 

And leave me here alone ! 

I only look for happiness 
Beyond this world of care ; 

And gladly will I hail the grave 
To slumber sweetly there. 



PROCRASTINATION 



I saw a boy throw back his golden locks, 

And run as eagerly as though his life 

Depended on the issue, — in the chase 

Of light air-bubbles that himself had blown ; 

And when his mother's voice, in mellow tones, 

Came after him, commanding his return, 

He dashed the sweat-drops from his heated brow, 

And turning round, with sad beseeching look, 

Said "Mother, I'll come presently." 

I saw the boy amid the change of years ; 
His locks of gold were giving up their place, 
And thicker — darker folds, began to crown 
His rising forehead ; on his features fair 
Time's glowing sunlight in its passage threw 
A stronger, sturdier texture — and his form 
Assumed a statelier mien, — erect and stern. 
The plaited ruffles he so long had worn, 
Were laid aside forever; o'er his coat 
There neatly turned a collar, plain and white, 
And he seemed glad that he had thrown away 
The childish garb that he was once so proud of. 



22* 



258 PROCRASTINATION. 

Yet was he bent upon his boyish sports; 
And when I saw him in his rising youth, 
He leaned against a tree, anear a stream, 
And with his penknife he was cutting out 
A mimic boat to float upon the waves ; 
And on his purpose, so intent was he, 
That when his mother called, he only deigned 
His whittling for a brief space to postpone ; 
And as he raised reluctantly his eyes, 
He with an angry countenance replied 
"Mother, I cannot come /" and he went on 
To chip the fragments from the wood he held. 

The boy grew up to manhood — scarce a line 

Of what he was in childhood and in youth, 

Was left upon his tall and robust form, 

To tell he was the same ; but still I knew 

That it was he — and I remembered well 

The bubble that he chased, and tiny boat 

So anxiously he floated on the stream. 

His childish deeds were buried in the past, 

And all his boyhood's wayward sports were done 

But his resisting heart was still the same. 

His mother took him gently by the hand, 

And said in pleasant and subduing tones, 

With all the confidence a parent feels 

When she addresses a beloved son, — 

k 'My dear, you'll go with me to church to-day !" 

He turned abruptly on his heel and cried, 

"Mother, I will not!" and he blushed for shame, 

As in his sullenness, he skulked away. 



PROCRASTINATION. 259 

I saw him in the temple of his God, 
He'd wandered there as to some hall of mirth, 
To while the hour away. The laws of heaven, 
Like thunder from the faithful pastor's lips, 
Fell on his stubborn heart ; their force he felt, 
And big tears chased each other down his cheeks. 
The spirit stirred within him, but he said, 
"Not this time, — to-morrow 1 shall call for thee.'" 

A week passed by; the guilty man was laid 
Low on his death-couch, and his trembling soul 
Was troubled at the dread array of crime 
That memory's faithful mirror showed him then ; 
The false to-morrow that deceived him long, 
Came on him suddenly ; he made the call 
That he had promised; but he called in vain, 
The injured spirit now refused to hear, 
And left him in that last and gloomy hour 
In all his deep infirmity and sin, 
To fight with Terror's king. 



THY LOVE. 



It rises like a sun of joy- 
On life's uncertain sea ; 

When passion's waves roll wild and high, 
Its light is shed on me. 

I hail it when around my path, 
Clouds of misfortune lower ; 

And in affection's depths 1 feel 
Its soothing — softening power. 

'Tis lovely as the light of heaven, 

As brilliant and as pure ; 
And shines alike in storm and calm, 

Life's fadeless Cynosure. 
The world without its beams would be 

A wilderness of gloom, — 
A dreary pathway to a dark 

And yet more dreary tomb. 

When like a wanderer I seem, 
Unblest by friendship's smile ; — 

W r hen no kind spirit lingers near, 
My sorrows to beguile ; — 



THY LOVE. 261 

As a sweet minister of bliss, 

It comes upon my heart ; 
And doth in its subduing strength, 

A priceless peace impart. 

How turns the sea-boy from the wave, 

As dear as hope to him, 
To gaze on the receding shores 

In distance growing dim 1 
How fall the quick, unconscious tears 

Into the foaming brine, 
As round his little heart he feels 

Affection's tendrils twine 1 

He thinks of the dear home he left, 

Beyond the seas afar ; 
And wonders if 'tis bright as e'er, 

And how the loved ones are. 
Insensibly the tide of wo, 

Athwart his bosom sweeps ; 
His face he buries in his hands, 

And bitterly he weeps. 

The grief that gathers at his heart, 

No circumstance can move, 
'Till like a star amid the storm, 

Beams forth — a mother's love. 
A mother's love — how sweet it comes 

O'er throes of aching ill ; 
In soothing accents .suit and low, 

It whispers — peace, be still! 



262 THE SEA -BOY'S LOVE. 

And ever when pale sorrow sweeps 

O'er me, her siroc breath ; 
I'll seek the star whose beams can cheer 

The dreariness of death. 
It comes, — a spirit from the past, 

My weakness to reprove ; 
'Tis all of hope — of life to me, 

That sainted thing — thy love. 



THE SEA-BOY'S LOVE. 



I love the bounding ocean, 

Its proud majestic swell ; 
To gaze on its commotion, 

In storms, doth please me well. 
To see the billow sweeping 

Up where the stars may roam ; 
The clouds like curtains steeping 

Their foldings in its foam.— 

To see the sportive lightning 

Blaze from the tempest high ; 
The sea's deep centre whit'ning, 

Down where the jewels lie — 
Is dearer than the pleasure 

The landsman meets on shore ; 
'Tis more to me than treasure 

To sail the blue seas o'er. 



TO THE PATAPSCO 



How oft bright river, it lint li been my joy 

To gaze upon thy beauty ? how my heart, 

In the glad season of its youth hath leapt 

In ecstacy of bliss, when the light waves 

Have rolled from thy blue bosom to the shore, 

And laid their freight of foam, like glittering pearls, 

In seeming exultation at my feet ? 

I've wandered by thy waters from the dawn, 
Till dewy eve hath wrapped thee in its shade ; 
And as a child upon the well known face 
Of its fond mother, might intently gaze, 
And wonder at the mysteries that seem 
To mingle with each lovely feature there : — 
So I have watched the light and playful surge 
That walked upon thy surface, and have felt 
Rapture that rushes with the youthful blood, 
When pleasure high into the channel strikes. 

Fairest of rivers ! when the evening sun 
Hath sot behind the ridge of dusky blue, 
That belts the brilliant city at thy head, 
I've knelt beside thy softly sweeping surge 



264 TO THE PATAPSCO. 

In boyish gladness on the golden beach, 

And bent my head low on the glittering sands, 

To list the anthem of thy gentle waves, 

That like the rushing of a sea nymph's wings, 

Rose up from thy bright bosom. 'Twas thy deed 

Of deep thanksgiving ; and my soul hath poured, 

In perfect unison with the blessed strains, 

Its sacrifice of praise up to the heaven, 

That gave its welcome to our offering pure. 

I love thee, beauteous river ! for my heart 
Hath learned religous inspiration from thee ; 
And when in the cool twilight now I kneel, 
To lift my evening prayer, I think of thee ; — 
Fancy brings up before me thy bright waves, 
And the rich heaven so clearly mirrored there ; 
And though I may not be as happy now 
As when my boyhood bound thee in its love, 
Yet do I feel that our companionship, 
Hath been of service to me — for it taught 
My young and unsophistocated breast, 
At first to love thy peerless self, and then 
The God that made and gave thee to my heart. 



MUSINGS IN MOUNT AUBURN.* 



Sunlight has faded from the flowery hills, 

And evening o'er the fragrant heights is blushing . 
And lowly murmurs of the mountain rills, 

Whose limpid waters o'er the rocks are gushing, 
Meet on the air in music, and the sound 

Swells o'er the stillness of the solemn hour, 
And with the grandeur on the heavens around, 

Fall on the feelings with subduing power, 
And woo the weary mind from scenes of bustling life 
To wander in its shades — away from all its strife. 

Moment for meditation ! how I feel 

Thy solitude ? And while the dews are weeping, 
From the abodes of living men I steal, 

To muse in silence where the dead are sleeping : 
And now Mount Auburn, while amid thy gloom, 

From mound to mausoleum I may go, 
May I remember that the dreary tomb, 

Its dismal arras will around me throw; 
And while man's frail mortality may moulder here, 
The soul, unhurt by sin, may seek a better sphere. 

* Cemetery, near Boston. 

23 



266 MUSINGS IN MOUNT AUBURN. 

And multitudes who tread these sacred aisles, 

Where buds and blossoms in their pride are growing, 
With cheeks of vermil and their lips in smiles — 

While yet the bowers all beautiful are glowing, 
Struck by the monster in their prime may fall ; 

And weeping friends, with 'fainting steps and slow,' 
May bear their bodies 'neath the sable pall 

To their lone rest — the flowery turf below, 
And then return to mingle with the busy throng, 
Sport carelessly awhile, and follow them ere long. 

I come to commune with the voiceless crowd, 

And gather wisdom in the tide of feeling 
That rushes with the thoughts of pall and shroud, 

When melancholy o'er the mind is stealing ; 
And if beside the cenotaph I tread, 

Whose sculpture doth some history reveal ; 
Or o'er the ashes of less honored dead, 

On the green sward, in deepest awe I kneel, 
'T may seem as though some sleeper's spirit did with 

mine 
Hold hallowed converse beside the lowly shrine. 

Beneath me here in silence doth repose, 

The dust of the great Spurzheim : he whose spirit 
So like a thing of heaven high uprose, 

As if its spotless heirdom to inherit 
Before the tabernacle of its time's sojourn 

Had worn out half its years, and he has gained, 
Beyond the dark unfathomable bourne, 

A shining home where science ever reigned : 



MUSINGS IS M OUNT AUBURN. *-i<'»7 

And he, improving still, in intellectual might, 

May wing his way lor ever through the halls of light. 

The stainless marble that doth mark the spot 

Where the great philosopher lies decaying, 
Is more than cpitaphed, though it hath not 

The fulsome eulogy that Friendship praying, — 
Full oft on the unconscious slab doth write, 

To rear o'er the unworthy ; as though the deed. 
The dead could rescue from disgraceful night. 

And their memorial clothe in Virtue's meed : 
"Spurzheim" is all the ice-cold marble doth contain. 
The name itself is history, ami unisi e'er remain. 

And here, a sunwy shaft, an Ashmun's worth 

Hath memoried in marble — proudly telling 
That mind, when fails its monument of earth, 

Doth seek a higher and a holier dwelling — 
In realms congenial to its growing power. 

Where uncreated and unclouded day, 
The spirit's lofty and eternal dower. 

Its ever brightening splendours doth array : 
And the free mind, unfettered in its high career. 
Is soaring ever upward through its boundless sphere. 

Von tall oak shelters Hoffman's resting place, 
In youth he started fur the pearl of glory ; — 

With vigor ran his intellectual race, 

And ere Fame's iron pen had marked his story 

Death winged the fatal arrow, and he fell — 



268 MUSINGS IN MOUNT AUBURN. 

Fell while the path to eminence he trode ; — 
For whom the partial Gods do love full well, 

Are taken early to their blest abode ; 
The marble tells his worth to all who walk this grove > 
His spirit wanders o'er the blissful fields above. 

This temple-tomb is from Italia's shore, 

Cut from the quarry of a classic mountain, 
Adown whose side did classic waters pour, 

Sparkling like silver from the wild- wood fountain. 
In gazing on its beauty — how the heart 

Leaps in its fulness as the thoughts arise 
Of the fair land afar that cradled Art, 

And looked on Science with a mother's eyes ! 
That she should rend in twain her hills where beauty 

blooms, 
Marring their loveliness to give the nations tombs. 

Perchance Boccaccio once was seen to stand 

On the tall mount amid its crown of flowers ; 
Or Dante heard to sing his favorite land 

While wandering among her blooming bowers ; 
And other worthies may have stood upon 

The soil that hid this marble from their sight, 
And told of cities that the sword had won ; 

Or kingdoms crushed by the usurper's might. 
And this thrice lovely tomb perhaps may be the part 
Of some tall temple that adorns that land of Art. 



MUSINGS IN MOUNT AUBURN. VJGO 

Low in yon valley by the little lake, 

Whose waters now are in the moonlight sparkling, 
In the deep slumber that no voice can wake, 

Lies Hannah Adams, and around her darkling 
Hang the deep shadows of the ravine wild, 

As if stern Nature had her gloom weeds worn 
To weep in solitude o'er a favorite child, 

Whom some rude monster from her love had torn ; 
Adams, the sweet " Historian of the Jews," she sleeps 
While man her works and learning in memorial 
keeps. 

Beneath this little mound, whose breast doth bear 

A mimic forest of the fairest roses, 
A sleeper, taken from this world of care 

Ere wo had touched its path — in sleep reposes. 
The slumber of the innocent is sweet, 

And like the peace of heaven is the tomb 
Where, covered in its snow-white winding-sheet. 

The infant form is laid within its gloom ; 
Youth, bloom, and loveliness are alike the prey 
Of the relentless tyrant; — all must own his sway. 

Beside the hillock is a longer grave, 

And near the valley's ivy'd edge, another, 
The forms they hide were worn by sorrow's wave : 

The father sleeps in that, in this the mother. 
Of these, a saddening story hath been told 

Of keen misfortune in their early love ; 
Though young in years, they w r ere in sorrow old : 

And gladly left the world for heaven above. 
23* 



270 SHE FADED. 

And while beneath the turf their bodies are at rest, 
On high their ransomed spirits wander with the blest 

I lean against this granite column now, 

And while pale Cynthia is her silver shedding 
Through the thick foliage on my aching brow, 

I think upon the steps that I've been treading. 
And in my heart's sincerity I pray 

These solemn scenes may be a lesson true, 
And the deep meditations of this day, 

May be my monitor life's journey through. 
And when I leave this world of trial, may I tread 
The blissful aisles of heaven with Mount Auburn's 
dead. 



SHE FADED 



Like a fair flower on the river's banks 

The beauteous maiden grew ; the bloom she wore 

On her young cheek, was such as nature paints 

Upon the bright carnation, and her heart 

By sophistry untouched, — gave out its love 

Pure as a first affection. 

But the worm — 
Of disappointment, fixed upon her heart 
A festering wound that ruined her rich hopes, 
And blighted happiness forever. 



SOUTHERN FLOWERS. 



AJI ctionati ly inscribed to my niece, Sarah Emily Austin, of Nash- 

When the dusky shades of night, 

From the darkened aether fly ; 
And the moon with rosy light, 

Rises on the eastern sky, 
To some verdant slope I stray, 

And wandering through the vine-clad bowers, 
I muse on Emma — far away 

Fairest of the southern ilowers. 

Young and joyous, she is now, — 

Bright as summer blossoms are ; 
And her fair and snowy brow 

Bears not yet a mark of care. 
Laughter sparkles in her eye, 

Like sunshine alter April showers ; 
No blossom may with Emma vie 

Among the sweet southern flowers. 



V 



Nature's rouge is on her cheeks, 
Pencilled by a perfect hand, 

And the florid hue bespeaks 
Freshness for the favored land. 



272 SOUTHERN FLOWERS. 

Where forests crown the skyward hills, 
And valleys are bestrewn w T ith bowers ; 

And the gentle mountain rills, 
Water all the southern flowers. 

Happy in her sunny home, 

Sportive as the light gazelle ; 
O'er the hills 'tis sweet to roam, 

With the friends that love her well. 
May life's sun shed golden beams 

Upon her path : — and future hours ! — 
May they be as pleasant dreams, 

Crowned with blooming southern flowers. 

And when the light of sterner years, 

On her lovely cheek may shine ; 
'Mid dimmer hopes and darker fears, 

When youth's brilliant dreams decline ; 
May she, her early bloom retain, 

And strengthened in improving powers, 
In energies of mind remain 

Brightest of the southern flowers. 



THE ROSE THAT NEVER FADES. 



Aye — bind the rose upon thy brow ! 

'Tis Beauty's spotless throne, 
And seems so light and laughing now ;• 

But ere yon brilliant sun, 
May sink to rest, the flowret's bloom 

From its bright folds may fade ; 
And wrapped in vesture for the tomb, 
May thy sweet form be laid. 
To his hall of rest, 
In the golden west, 
Ere the glorious orb goes down ; 
That beautiful rose 
Now so richly that glows 
May weep o'er its withering crown. 

And life is like the fading rose, 

A fleeting — fragile thing : 
In Nature's garden fair, it grows, 

Fanned by the winds of spring. — 
But wintry storms, the rifted core, 

In angry blasts blow through ; 
Nipped by disease, its bloom is u'er — 

It falls as roses do. 



274 THE ROSE THAT NEVER FADES 

In glittering zones, 
Though the light enthrones 

The loveliest brow to lave ; 
A mountain of care, 
The lone bosom may bear, 

That may hasten it to the grave. 

But there's a rose that never fades — 

That wears the constant bloom 
Of those delightful everglades, 

Beyond life's wintry gloom, — 
Where flow the free exhaustless streams, 

And spotless seraphs wing ; 
And ceaseless sunlight richly beams, 
In bright immortal spring. 
Religion's sweet rose, 
In its brilliancy glows 
In cottage and palace high ; 
O seek the sweet flower 
And rejoice in its bower, 
Forever beyond the bright sky. 



THE SISTER'S APPEAL, 



O trust thy sorrows to me now, 

And make them mine ! 
Say ! why doth sadness cloud thy brow, 

That erst did shine, 
In the rich light of early love, 
And with my own thy hopes inwove ! 
Thou art to me a sister dove, 

And I am thine. 

When gloom and darkness gather round 

Thy troubled breast ; — 
When for thy spirit scarce is found 

A place of rest ; 
Then on this bosom seek repose, 
'Twill be the soother of thy woes; — 
Come ! all thy sorrows here disclose — 

Thou dear distressed. 

O what is all this world to me, 

When thou art not 
The same light-hearted thing and free ; 

Hast thou forgot 



276 the sister's appeal. 

Those happy hours, when side by side, 
We sported by Patapsco's tide 
And watched the sparkling eddies glide — 
Our feet about ? 

When arm in arm we wandered there, 

And gathered flowers 
Of choicest bloom, to bind our hair ? 

Those very hours 
Shall live while memory lives, their light, 
In after years will burn as bright, 
And close as now, shall they unite 

These hearts of ours. 

When bloom and beauty both shall fade,— 

When blight shall come, 
And earth's green glories all are laid 

Low in the tomb ; — 
When hope and home become the spoil 
Of Death, upon the waste we'll smile, 
And to each other cling the while 

Above the gloom. 

In storm and calm alike I'll love 

And leave thee never; 
Nor death, nor doom, shall ever move 

Our hearts to sever : 
But on that high, eternal shore, 
Where sadness ne'er shall reach us more, 
We'll sit and sing our sorrows o'er, 

And love forever. 



I'LL THINK OF THEE. 

I'll think of thee when morn is breaking. 

Richly o'er the sleeping sea : 
When my thoughts from dreams awaking, 

Stir the depths of memory. — 
When deeds of other days are rushing 

O'er my mental vision free ; 
And feeling's waters forth are gushing, 

Then my love — I'll think of thee. 



When the weary sun, retiring, 

Seeks in peace his evening rest, 
And his latest beam expiring, 

Fades upon the glorious west. — 
When the twilight dews are shedding. 

Balmy tears on flower and tree: 
And grief upon my heart is spreading- 

Then my love — I'll think of thee. 

When the star of eve is sinking, 

Down the blue and brilliant sky ; — 
When the myriad orbs are blinking, 

Weary of their watch on high. — 
Wht-n the brimming fount of feeling, 

Sorrow-smitten, gushes fin 
All its hidden depths revealing. 

Then my love — I'll think of thee. 
24 



A MOTHER'S LOVE 



Hast ever met a brother dear, 

Or sister, whom thou hast not seen, 
The many a long and dreary year, 

That o'er the blue seas thou hadst been ? 
Hast ever grasped the warm — warm hand, 

And pressed the lips that spoke thy praise, 
When thou wert in a foreign land, 

Wand'ring through Fortune's doubtful maze ? 

Hast ever in the mansion hall, 

Hailed thy sire as he passed thee by ? 
And starting at thy well known call, 

Hast marked the tear-drop in his eye ? 
There's majesty in a father's joy — 

A dignity in the manly tears 
His glad heart weeps upon his boy, — 

Fond object of his hopes and fears. 

Didst e'er a blushing girl surprise, 

Whom thou hadst fondly loved, and long ? — 
One, whose lustrous and sparkling eyes, 

Had been life's starlight, — and whose song 



a mother's love. '279 

Thrilled rapture through thy trusting soul, 
And threw around thy heart a spell, 

Stern witness of the deep control 

She held o'er thee, and wrought full well ? 

Hast firmly held in thy embrace 

The mother who has loved thee well ? 
Hast on her bosom hid thy face, 

And felt the strong aflection-swell 
That moved her full heart as she pressed 

The brow she laid her hands upon 
In childhood, and as often blessed, 

With fervor that she shared with none ? 

What is there like a mother's love, 

The same in weal or wo to her 1 — 
What sympathies the soul may move, 

Like those her throbbing heart that stir ? 
There's mvsterv in the thoughts that brine: 

Affection's waters from her breast ; — 
The fount eternal whence they spring 

Not even death may put to rest. 



THOU ART AWAY. 



Thou art away, where bounding billows 

Sport upon the changing sea ; 
Above ten thousand gem wrought pillows, 

Ever sweeping wild and free. 

How many hearts that high hopes treasured, 
Trusted to the treacherous deep ? 

In its depths, those hopes were measured, 
And the wild waves o'er them sweep. 

The waves were peaceful when they started, 
Gently blew the fragrant breeze : 

And the friends from whom they parted, 
Wished them safely o'er the seas. 

But the storm soon spread before them, 
And the fretted waves rose high ; 

The surges wild rolled swiftly o'er them, 
And in ocean's depths they lie. 

Above them sweep the raging billows, — 

Surges of the mighty sea 
That revel o'er their coral pillows, 

Wash the white beach mournfully. 



THOU ART AWAY. 281 

The bay was in its beauty sleeping, 

When upon its tranquil breast, 
We trusted thee into the keeping, 

Of Him who lulled its waves to rest. 

We saw the stately ship that bore thee, 

Verging to the distant main ; 
And while the white waves rolled before thee, 

We prayed thou mightst return again. 

We trust the God that rules the ocean, — 
Calms its troubled waves to sleep ; 

Will watch thee 'mid its wild commotion, — 
Guard thee while the surges sweep. 

May he from his throne of glory, 

On thy head his blessing pour ; — 
Keep his mighty arm before thee, — 

Bring thee to thy home once more. 

We will not fear the billow sweeping, 

Glorious sunlight gilds its crest; 
While on its deep blue bosom sleeping, 

God will guard thee in thy rest. 



24* 



TO ELVIRA. 



Life's morning sun is on thee now : 

Its brilliant light 
Reflected on thy snowy brow 

Is beaming bright. 
His glories on thy form he's throwing, 
Roses in thy path are growing, 
Light, bloom, and gladness, — all are glowing 

In their might. 

The skies above thy head display 

Their azure hue ; \ 
No clouds of storm beneath them stray, 

To dim their blue ; 
But in the laughing light of pleasure, 
They seem to show their glowing treasure, 
Gathered for thee, without measure ; 

Would they were true ! 

The fruits and flowers are fresh and fair, 

That strew thy way ; 
And blushing beauties rich and rare, 

Around thee play. 



TO ELVIRA. 283 

Life has lovely, blooming bowers, 
But all its glittering rosy hours 
Are winged, and swiftly o'er the flowers] 
May fly away. 

But life has clouds that dim the sky, 

And hide the sun — 
Damp vapours through the air that fly, 

By dull winds blown. 
Though bright to-day, the sun to-morrow 
From the cloud its gloom may borrow ; — 
Joy may fade away, and sorrow 

Usurp its throne. 

The wreath is twined with joy and wo 

Alike inwove, 
The hopes and fears of all below 

Alternate move. 
Elvira, — soon life's threads may sever, 
Then seek dear girl the boon that never 
Fades nor falls, but blooms forever 

In climes above. 



TIME'S IMPRESS. 



I murmur not that Time has laid 

His impress on my brow ; — 
Has changed my cheek, and robed my head 

In hoary honors now ; 
These silvery tokens tell that years, 
All thickly strewn with hopes and fears, 

Have brought me gloom and shine : — 
That Pleasure's smiles and Sorrow's tears, 

Have changed this life of mine. 

In childhood's garden shade I bowed 

And plucked its summer flowers ; 
And youth passed by with scarce a cloud 

To dim its sunlit bowers ; 
But childhood's laughing skies went on, 
And youth's gay glories are all gone — 

Each leaf is pale and sere ; 
And bears upon its stem alone 

The autumn of its year. 

Yon aged remnants of the past, 

The forest's side that bound, 
Throw out their boughs upon the blast, 

Once rich in foliage crowned ; — 



time's impress. 285 

Now sered and smitten — there they stand, 
Like way-marks on the wasting land, 

To tell of years gone by, — 
Of tempests fierce and showers bland, 

That passed their changing sky. 

The old oak, that the storms have hurt, 

The fading forest tree 
Throws out his bare arms for support 

In his infirmity. 
When humbled 'neath the tempest's tread, 
The honored relic bows his head, 

To rest upon the soil ; — 
He wears the majesty though dead, 

That Time can never spoil. 

And years, though swift they flee away. 

Resistless as the tide ; 
Their deeds on memory's pages may 

Eternally abide. 
Old Time, his never tiring wings, 
May spread out for his wanderings, 

And swift through aether sail ; — 
Though ages in his rear lie llings, 

His impress cannot fail. 



. . T * 



lie beau 

: 

■■a — 
Suet charming 

■ 



in 

■ 
Bmttkem 




7 .:e '.~~<i^< .ill: i -'::e ;.- --. 

yf.. _ „ . . . . ._. .■ , ;1 . 

I..- ;»-.;j*:: ::ar;.i in :■ : -in. — -. 

V - L I- •: r ::i. /_ 

I ■.- ••: i . ■ v. -.; ;-:r; .• l .' i- i^ hj.. :- 

ii !•:' : :±c- l ------ 

1-i : -.- . _-■-:-■-. ; -: : :.io:s. 
- _ v . .... _ ^ _....- .._._ 

— . : - 

• - — 

: 

7 r - zr: : ;-;.:. .... : :.- .?. 
Siu._ :«r u .-;■:■: i ?-.._.;.- v ._- 



ELLEN'S ROSE. 



Companionless in the deep solitude, 

That hung like sabbath on the mossy vale, 

A rose bush, like a weeping exile stood, 

And bowed its branches to the passing gale. 

A single bud it bore, — it had borne two, 
One from the stem the wild storm winds had torn, 

And it had withered — while the other grew, 
A lovely mourner of its mate forlorn. 

'T was beautiful, when in the young spring time 
Its meek head lifted to the morning sun, 

As if to gaze upon the beams sublime, 

That from the glittering heaven were pouring 
down. 

From their green tunic, the rich crimson folds 
Were breaking, when the lonely Ellen came 

For moss to plant around the flower moulds 
That Edwin gave her, ere he went for fame, 

Beyond the deep blue ocean, where in fight 

He gained high honors for his humble name, 

And wreathed his temples in their glorious light. 



ellen's rose. 289 

And Ellen's eyes were tearful, as she gazed 

Upon the little beauty, budding there, 
And pearls rolled from their lids as them she raised 

Up to the glowing heavens with fervent prayer 
That he who dared the billow and the battle, 

To win proud laurels for his manly brow ; 
Might walk unharmed amid the war-stornVs rattle: 

And there she solemnly renewed the vow, 
That she and Edwin mutually had made — 

The morn he parted from her, in the bower, 
That her fair hands with jessamine had arrayed, 

And Love had sanctified with soft'ning power. 

Remembrance of that moment on her heart. 

Was far more vivid than the real scene ; 
For. the absorbing thought that they must part, 

So long a darkly shadowed dream had been. 
That it had dulled her senses, and the deed 

She scarcely realized, — but memory, 
That thing of thorns — had made her bosom bleed. 

And well she proved its bitter ecstasy. 

So like herself, had seemed that little rose. 

Full of affection — but with nothing near 
On which in tenderness it might repose, 

And find the silent solitude less drear — 
That in the contrast she could not restrain 

The ilood that gathered at her heart so riven. 
And it gushed forth, afflictions priceless rain. 

A tribute rich, to rose and lover given. 
25 



290 ellen's rose. 

She named the flower Edwin — and her pail 

At night and morn, she carried to the spot ; 
And while her feelings forced her to bewail 

In bitter anguish, her unhappy lot, 
She poured upon its roots the cooling stream 

That with the drops she wept — moistened the soil 
And made the flower flourish ; — 'twas her theme 

Alike, of joy and grief, and daily toil. 

One evening as the sun was going down, 
Her pail of water on the grass she laid — 

To gaze a moment on the golden crown 

And crimson hues, that glittering skies arrayed. 

Wrapt in enchantment at the glorious scene, 

She stood and wished for Ed win; "Oh!" said she — 
"If he were here, upon that sky serene 

To stand and gaze in ecstasy with me, 
How happy should I be V 9 

"Be happy then !" 

A voice exclaimed, she'd often heard before, 
"For Edwin 's here the happiest of men." 

All she could utter was, "I ask no more." 



DEATH OF THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER. 



Thei led the warrior to his couch, 

And calmy laid him down, — 
Thej smoothed the pillow for his head. 

That soon should wear the crown 
Of fadeless light, prepared for him 

In the blest land above, 
Where those his labors here had saved 

Shout their Redeemer's love. 

The armor of his hallowed faith, 

Still shone upon his form ; 
Brilliant success had brightened it 

In many a battle-storm. 
That armor was. in early youth, 

His panoply and pride; — 
The gift of heavenly grace to him. 

By heaven sanctified. 

He wore it when revilers raised 

Their impious voices high ; 
It sheltered him in peril's hour, 

In it — he wished to die ; 
'Twere highest happiness to gain 

A death so nobly sought ; 
The warrior's hallowed shroud should be 

The mail in which he fought. 



292 DEATH OF THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER. 

How gloriously the hero falls, 

From earthly fetters free, 
Beneath the ensign of the cross, 

Waving in victory ? 
Behold him gazing on its folds ! 

Anxious for his release, 
High hopes of heaven within his heart — 

His sainted death-shout "peace."* 

Go ask the scorning infidel, 

If his death-couch may be 
The heaven-lighted vestibule, 

Of immortality ; — 
Ask if his dying cheek, the smile 

Of joyful hope may wear ; — 
If ere a heaven of bliss he gain, 

He may its glories share ? 



* "Peace, peace," were the last words of the Rev. Andrew Hemphill, 
of the Baltimore Conference., to whose memory the above verses are 
humbly inscribed. 



MY SOUL IS SAD. 



My soul is sad, — the depths are stirred. 

And forth the hidden waters flow ; 
1 see the rushing torrent rise, 

To whelm me in its flood of wo. 
The hopes of other years have fled, 

And darkness gathers round me now ; 
The thorns are in my bleeding heart, 

And lines of sorrow on my brow. 

My soul is sad, — on Love's own knee 

My lips were taught to lisp the bliss 
Of better worlds, which fondly I 

Had thought awaited me in this. 
And for its revelation looked, 

Till years of disappointment wore 
Their furrows on my heart and head 

And life's green vista shadowed o'er. 

My soul is sad, — the days are gone, 
That lighted up my youthful path ; 

The blighting tempest blasted them, 
That sweeps around me still in wrath. 
25* 



294 MY SOUL IS SAD. 

As in the vessel's wake is seen 

The foam of fretted waves she passed ; 

So in my ever varying life 

The wrecks of happiness are cast. 

My soul is sad, — I loved the sports, 

That wearied boyhood's willing feet, — 
And loved the guiltless — guileless band, 

For pleasure that rejoiced to meet. 
Manhood has crowned the boyish throng, — 

And changed the features once so fair ; — 
While many are matured in guilt, 

None are as guileless as they were. 

My soul is sad, — the sinless hands, 

With mine, in youth that joined the game, 
Were poisoned by pollution's touch, 

And wrought their wretched owner shame. 
How oft the spotless years of youth, 

A dark inglorious manhood stains? — 
And guilt hath given the boyish laugh, 

For clanking of the dungeon's chains. 

My soul is sad, — the captive's voice 

Still echoes on my startled ear ; 
I see him seated in his cell, 

And his repentant groan I hear. 
High halls of opulence were his, 

And wealth awaited his control ; 
But ah ! he raised the treacherous cup. 

And drank the ruin of his soul. 



MY SOUL IS SAD. 295 

My soul is sad, — on friendship's faith, 

My all of earthly hope reposed ; 
The bubble broke, and in its depths, 

Deceit as dark as night disclosed. 
Friendship is but a tender bud, 

That blooms in summer sun and shower, 
But autumn's first chill blast reveals 

The serpent sleeping in the flower. 

My soul is sad, — when will the scenes, 

That crowd upon my memory now, 
Cease thus to lacerate my heart — 

To hang their shadows on my brow ? 
When will the dreary clouds disperse 

That wrap my spirits in their gloom ? — 
When will the sun of joy again, 

My ever changing sky illume ? 

My soul is sad, — o'er wasted years, 

And bruised and buried hopes I mourn, — 
Years that have mingled with the past, 

And hopes that never may return. 
O that these sad and sorrowing hours, 

My fallen nature would refine ; — 
Would purify my inmost thoughts, 

And better this frail heart of mine. 



REVELATION. 



Earth, — though it be the bright and flowery home 

Of mortal being — brilliantly illumed 

By fair Philosophy's all radiant flame, 

That like a moral sun is pouring light 

In beams effulgent, on its blooming breast : — 

Without that lamp of loveliness and truth — 

The glorious Revelation of his will, 

That God in wisdom and in mercy gave, 

Would be a gilded bubble wrapped in gloom. 

And man — the proudest workmanship of God, 
That walks in beauty and in majesty, 
Erect in stature and enriched with mind ; — 
Wandering amid the groves, or by the sea 
He might have gazed upon the winning charms, 
That matchless Nature in her glory wears, 
And felt devotion springing in his breast ; — 
He might have knelt upon the sod and prayed, 
And wept and praised, and yet without the light 
That burns upon the altars high of heaven — 
He would have worshipped darkness. 



LIFE. 



We gaze with delight on the blush of the morning. 
Fresh in its brilliance and beauty arrayed: 

Calm in its glory, the orient adorning, 

And think that such loveliness never may lade. 

Like the blush of the morn, is the first glow oi 
childhood 
Reddening in innocence, lovely and gay ; 
But there comes on its path from the gloom of some 
wild wood 
A blight, that its excellence hurries away. 

We gaze on the morning, in splendor maturing, 
And painting its path o'er the azure on high : 

We fancy its pride is forever enduring — 

We dream that it never may fade from the sky. 

Like the morning's rich splendor, is youth in his 
gladness, 
When Hope's rich ciiulgence beams high in his 
sight 
He thinks not of sorrow — he knows not of sadness, 
Till Death o'er his hopes, throws the gloom of his 
night. 



298 LIFE. 

When the sun gathers strength as the noontide 
advances, 

And pours his full beams on the hill and the plain ; 
We see that his grandeur, day's glory enhances, 

And wish that his brightness may ever remain. 

Like noon in its grandeur, stern manhood discloses, 
The pride of his strength, walking fearless and 
free ; 

Death issues his mandate — his might he opposes, 
And falls, still resisting, beneath the decree. 

How calm comes the evening, the light slowly 
fading 

'Mid crimson and gold on the beautiful west ; 
Day's monarch himself, through the brilliancy wading, 

Goes quietly down to the place of his rest. 

So calmly and quietly age is descending, 

Through the land of long shadows, Death's twi- 
light and gloom, 

So gradual are years with eternity blending, 
That age regrets not that it goes to the tomb. 

Thus childhood and youth, have their bloom and 
their blighting, 

Manhood and age, have their strength and decay, 
But Death comes to each, on the happiest alighting, 

And hurries them all from their pleasures away. 



O GIVE ME BACK MY HOPE. 



O give me back my hope again, — 

Give back my early love: 
My bark upon life's current sweeps 

An ark without its dove. 

O give me back my cloudless sky, — 
My smooth untroubled sea ; 

Or give me power to stop the tide 
Of gushing memory. 

The winds that chill my wasting blood. 

Sweep from the restless years, 
Where hope by clouds of wo o'ercast, 

In beauty still appears. 

Then give me back my hope again, — 
My bosom's peace restore ; 

And from my Eden-home, my feet — 
Shall never wander more. 



THE PILGRIM'S REST 



"The pioneers of Christianity among the American wilds in the early 
period of its history, had many difficulties to encounter 5 frequently sleep- 
ing at night upon the leaves, while the stars twinkled through the 
foliage above them as if to watch them during their rest." 

Sleep weary pilgrim on thy leafy couch, — 

Sleep while the moon shall watch thee, and the stars 

Hymn Nature's music in their vigil hours, 

Above thy lowly pillow ; far away, 

Beyond the billows of the deep blue sea, 

Thou hadst, in other years, a father-land, 

And happy friends and friendships clustered there; 

The memory of those years is pleasant now, 

Far down the shaded avenue of life, 

Ev'n to those delightful— sunny vales, 

Now dim before thee, when thou wert a child ; 

And she, that called thee by that tender name, — 

And taught thy infant lips to lisp the praise, 

At morn — at sultry noon, and in the night, 

Of that eternal Being at whose will 

Worlds find existence, or forever fade, — 

That bathed thy temples in the morning's light 

And told thee of its beauty, — she is there. 



THE PILGRIM'S REST. 301 

The eyes that with a mother's tenderness, 
Looked in thy cradle on thy sleeping brow, 
And the dear arms that held thee, now are dust. 
Thou wert away, a stranger and a pilgrim, 
Upon the blooming land that won thy love, 
When she, from the dim world's absorbing ca 
Went up to die; unmurmuringly she laid 
Her head upon the bosom of her God, 
And gave her willing spirit to his arm-. 
Other reft hearts wept over her in death, 
And other hands have laid her in the tomb : — 
She slumbers sweetly; and when in thy dreams. 
Remembered scenes of happiness and her, 
Come up in beauty on thee, — then again 
Thou art a child, and sporting at her feet. 

And many hearts of high and ardent hope, 
That held thee in remembrance, and that wept 
Tears of deep sorrow over thy lost home, 
Have spent their last slow pulses, and are still : 
The gloom of death is on them and they sleep, 
Unmindful of the ceaseless storms of care 
That shake the world and thee; peace to their shades. 
And may their deathless spirits walk in light. 
And hymn the praises of the mighty King, 
That rules and reigns o'er earth, and sea, and heaven. 

Sweet be thy sleep, lone pilgrim : on the sod 
The Prince of Glory bowed his wears head; 
And <»'cr the misery of apostate man. 
26 



302 the pilgrim's rest. 

Wept in the deep bitterness of his spirit, 

Bruised and broken, as oft thine own has been. 

Like him, thou comest to this land of flowers. 

Mercy's sweet messenger, and words distil, 

In accents pure, of peace and deathless love 

From thy anointed lips ; thou tellest man 

Of the dark deed of sin that stained his soul — 

Of the eternal midnight of the lost — 

And of that spotless heirdom in the heavens, 

Purchased by sufPring, and through sufPring gained. 

Light be thy dreams, lone pilgrim ; while the hand 

Of some fair seraph presses on thy lids, 

And while she whispers to thy care-w r orn heart, 

In Love's ow r n strains, her sweetest words of peace, 

Thy dreams' delusive spell may bear thee back, 

And memory's visions tell thee of the past. 

Or thou may'st dream of perils yet to come — 

Perils that wait thee in thy humble walks, 

Ere thou may'st plant the standard of the Cross, 

And wave its snowy banner on these shores. 

Sleep sweetly stranger ; though the leaves may fade 

That form thy pillow, and the flowery spring, 

A thousand times renew the emerald robes 

That changing nature annually puts on — 

That bloom and perish like all earth-born things, 

Thy message may remain ; and when thy head, 

Slumbers amid the silence of the grave, 

Thy deeds shall walk in mystery 'neath the stars 

And in the sunlight, telling men of heaven. 



SCEPTICISM. 



'Twas on the eve of Freedom's glorious day, 

That gave Columbia's name an honored place, 

Highest among the nations ; — now she soars 

Proudly above the oldest of the earth. 

Her starry baldric rays, the rights of man, 

The coronal she wears is — Liberty. 

While others thought of battles and of blood, 

And wept their tears, worth diamonds, o'er the fate 

Of those who fell in Freedom's sacred cause, — 

And praised high heaven for the arm of strength 

That interposed and snatched the lovely land 

From the stern grasp of Despotism. Alone 

The dark idolator of Chance went forth, 

To think of freedom too, and to enjoy, 

In all the fervor of his fevered thought, 

The pleasure high of crediting the deed 

Of his dead sires, to the idol that he loved. 

The sun was .sinking in the shining west, 

And evening's shadows spreading all around, 

When from the busy city far he strayed ; 

And drinking intellectual nectar, fresh 

From rock, and tree, and cloud, and gentle breeze, 



304 SCEPTICISM. 

His full soul gushed with inspirations new, 
And gladdened at the thought of being free. 
He watched the orb go down amid the floods 
That gilded his departure, and he saw 
Star after star come on the azure vault, 
Till thousands glittered in the ample space. 
His mind was active, and his dreams of joy 
Came rushing, as it moved from scene to scene ; 
At length he mused aloud, and thus he spake: — 

"To talk of God, as an eternal power, 

Separate and self-existent, and enrobed 

In majesty and teri'or, full of wrath 

For such as are offensive to his law, 

Is madness in extreme ! To talk of God, 

As fools would talk of him, — a spirit high, 

That space pervades and in the atom lives — 

That rules and reigns upon this mighty orb, 

And treads the starry pavement of the skies, 

Ruler and Governor of every world 

That floats in glory on ethereal seas, 

Is worse than childish ravings ! No ! those worlds 

'Mid Time's successive changes, lightly sprung 

Unpledged — unpurposed on their orbits vast. 

Talk of a hand that holds each in its place ! 

'Twould make the heathen blush, — it shows a gloom 

Darker and deeper than the midnight shades, 

That o'er the Scandinavian ages hung, 

And cursed them with its horrors ; all the noise 

That priestcraft makes, is ruinous to mind, 



SCEPTICISM. 305 

And hurls its proudest energies to dust. 
I know no God but Nature ! She is God, 
And God is Nature, and the firmament, 
And all its princely gems, are but the parts — 
The glorious parts of one stupendous whole. 
Nature is God, the greatest and the best, 
And only self-existent, and if men please, 
Call her the great eternal, whose behest — 
Whose proudest, noblest attribute is ( Ihange — 
Change unrestricted and as well called Chance. 
And while in seeming mystery she moves, 
In execution of her various plans, — 
She is herself a principle as firm 
As everlasting rocks ; — she cannot fail. 
Ev'n yon cloud, rising in grandeur now, 
To wrap the twilight in a deeper gloom, 
Bespeaks her might, her majesty and power, 
She sends the sun to shine the dews awa\ 
From early morn ; — at eve, she sends the cloud, 
To cheer the earth with its refreshing showers." 

Thus mused the sceptic, till the gathering storm 
Flashed over him in terror, — peal on peal — 
The red bolts Hew and mighty nature shook, 
When the eternal God himself came forth, 
Walking upon the tempest. Prostrate fell 
The vaunting unbeliever to the earth, 
And on his trembling knees, cried out, "0 God, 
The lightnings are thine own, and thunders roll 
Only in obedience to thy holy will." 
26* 



FIRST SABBATH OF THE NEW-BORN 
YEAR. 

First Sabbath of the new born year, 

Thou like a star dost rise, 
Around this happy sphere to throw 

The radiance of the skies. 
There's beauty in thy morning beams, 

That burn so bright and free ; — 
All gilded with the glorious flame, 

That lights eternity. 

Thou art a sacred sentinel, 

Thy station is the van, 
To hail the Sabbaths yet to come 

Of bliss and wo to man. 
And thou may'st teach an erring race, 

Engloomed in sin and wo, 
The watch-word of the blessed world, 

Where deathless spirits go. 

'Tis well to stand within thy light, 
And think o'er buried years ; — 

To call up seasons of the past, 
With all their smiles and tears. — 



FIRST SABBATH OF THE NEW-BORN YEAR. 307 

And the bright promises of joy, 

And brilliant hopes compare 
With disappointments deep and dark, 

The heart has had to share. 

Thou art the silvery cynosure, 

That glitters from the sky, 
To light the wave-tost mariner, 

To ports of bliss on high. 
Thou seemest like the light of heaven, 

All shadowless and pure ; 
No gathering storm or cloud of gloom, 

Thy glory may obscure. 

The pillar of the desert thou, 

To point the pilgrim's way, 
Through dark simooms of trouble here, 

To realms of endless day. 
Surrounded by the scorching sands, 

By the wild whirlwinds driven ; 
He sees thee firmly based on earth, 

And pointing up to heaven. 

Rich fountains from thy pedestal, 

Immortal waters pour ; 
Which flow in pure and pleasant streams, 

The verdant oases o'er. — 
And many a way-worn traveller, 

Among the flowers has made. 
A pillow for his aching head, 

And rested in thv shade. 



308 FIRST SABBATH OF THE NEW-BORN YEAR. 

All hail to thee, the pioneer, 

Of blessed Sabbaths yet ; 
Be many a promise made to thee 

That hearts may ne'er forget. — 
Then shadows of departed years, 

Thy beauty may not hide; 
Nor dim the glories on thy crown, 

Which ever shall abide. 

Star of the year, may light from thee, 

Upon the future glow ; 
And rich, in other — after days 

Its gathered treasures show. 
Shine on bright star, until thy beams, 

O'er all the nations rise ; 
And point them to that home amid 

The brilliance of the skies. — 

Eternal home, foretold and sought 

By prophet, priest and king : 
Where happy hosts redeemed shall meet, 

And ever — ever sing. — 
Where armies of the saints shall tread 

The plains by seraphs trod ; 
And shout aloud the lofty praise 

Of their Redeemer — God. 



MEMORIES 



Quick falls the stroke — the wires of time 

Tremble a moment, and a year 
Drops into the unfathomed clime 

Where deeds of ages — all appear. 
Like spectres on the plains of fate, 

The varied actions of mankind, 
In wild assemblage congregate — 

Dark shadows on the waste of mind. 
In the deep vortex of the past, 
The deeds of centuries are cast. 

What feelings rush upon the heart ? — 

What thoughts run through the mind, as one 
Stands on the stroke that claims a pari 

Of coming year, and year agone ? 
What memories of the past begin, 

Like rivers running to the sea? — 
Rivers of time — they empty in 

The ocean of eternity. 
From eras of the past they sweep, 
Down to the overwhelming deep. 



310 MEMORIES. 

In thought, the paths of old we tread, 

That ancient prince and prophet trod ; 
And commune with the distant dead, 

That held communion once with God. 
And soar up to those regions bright, — 

The ever glorious regions, where 
Almighty Wisdom throned in light, 

'Mid mansions limitless and fair, 
The ways of angel throngs doth scan, 
And measure years to finite man. 

With Nature's prince in Eden's shade 

Unstained by sin, we sit and see 
The Godhead's matchless power displayed, 

In every plant, and shrub, and tree. 
The birds of heaven before the fall, 

That warbled forth melodious songs ; 
The fawning beast, the insect — all 

The myriads of the countless throngs 
That sport around the happy place, 
Enchant us with their winning grace. 

The guileful serpent we behold, 

That won the woman's trusting heart ; 
And wonder, as we see unfold 

The history of that hellish art, 
That blighted Eden's blissful bowers — 

Her hopes in desolation laid, 
And trampled down the lovely flowers, 

That God's immortal hand had made ; 



MEMORIES. 31 1 

The burning sod is covered o'er 

With wrecks of all that bloomed before. 

The change thai passed o'er earth we mourn, 

And birds and flowers were not alone, 
When of their bloom and brilliance shorn, 

Proud man, unrivalled on his throne 
Of princely intellect, has quailed 

Beneath the grim and ghastly frown 
Of the stern monster, that assailed 

And hurled his lofty honors down. 
The tyrant Sin hath dealt the blow, 
That laid the prince of nature low. 

The long lost grave of priest and king. 

Who lived in ages far agone; 
In mind before us, fresh we bring, 

And think o'er deeds, the dead had done. 
Temple and pyramid, that stood, 

Amid the desert — on the plain, 
And works that were beyond the flood, 

All in their places spring again. 
The king's design and artist's skill. 
Are grazed on and admired still. 

o 

And obelisk and column tall, 

Yet bathe their summits in the beams, 

From day's fierce urn of fire that fall : 
Anew the brazen pillar gleams 



312 MEMORIES. 

To tell the glorious triumphs o'er, 

That warring hands in blood have won ; 

And Memnon's marble speaks once more 
His pleasure to the rising sun. 

Again the faithful Delphian stands, 

Attentive to the priest's commands. 

On Babylon and Thebes we gaze, 

In all their splendor and their bloom ; 
And how we start in wild amaze, 

When memory recalls the doom 
That Time has writ for theirs and them, 

Time — who covers with his rust, 
The sceptre and the diadem, 

And gives the great to death and dust. 
The jewelled crown, the vaunting brow, 
Beneath the sod are sleeping now. 

The good, the vile, the great, the poor, 

Alike have trod the tracks of time ; 
And they are gone ! the earth no more, 

May see, nor know them till the chime 
Of resurrection trumps shall break 

Upon the quickening spirit's sleep, 
In startling echoes, and awake 

The buried millions from the deep ; 
The grasp of death, the shroud, the pall, 
In dust and darkness, equal all. 



MEMORIES. :U.'{ 

And all must die — the weak, the strong 

Must pass from this bright world away; 
Though wealth and fame to some belong, 

They cannot save them from decay. 
Of youth — the light and lovely form. 

Of age — the intellectual head, 
In years gone by, the hideous worm, 

That waits within the tomb, have \'ed. 
And years to come, that worm shall be 
Sole owner of the cemetery. 

'Tis wise to muse upon the tomb. 

For all its gloom will gather o'er ; 
The high born head must hail its doom, 

The meaner dead can do no more. 
The beggar like the king, shall sleep, 

Unharmed upon his couch of dust ; 
And none may break their slumber deep, 

Or snatch them from Oblivion's rust. 
'Tis wise to muse upon the tomb — 
Wiser to be prepared for doom. 



•J? 



NIGHT SCENE 



'Twas night, and from the nadir depths came up, 
Wheeling in ranks upon the cloudless blue, 
The armies of the firmament, all classed 
And claimed, and marching in their glory forth, 
As though they meant to battle it for fame, 
And seek high places, 'mid the plains of light ; 
For there were empires on the heights of heaven, 
Burning in the brilliance of the day-king's tires, 
Worthy the ambition of the proudest stars. 

Old Mazzaroth, like an emperor, reclined 
High on the sparkling zenith, when the hosts 
Looked from below upon his silvery throne, 
And wondered if the place belonged to him ; 
And while they gazed, — forth from his camp, 
He sent twelve stout and sturdy pioneers, 
To view his vast dominions, and explore 
The territories of untravelled space. 
His orders were, that they, the sun's high path 
Should channel into seasons, and return 
To tell him of their danger and success. 



NIGHT SCENE. 915 

Forth went the pioneers, and in their course. 
Full many a small republic they passed by, 
Whose armies came to meet them, and inquire 
What right they had to enter their domains. 

Orion, surprised at what he heard and saw. 
With Hashing eyes, up from his slumbers sprung, 
And like a warrior stern, with sabre drawn, 
Took his proud station in the starry van ; 
He beckoned for the hosts to follow on. 
And drive the fierce intruders from the skies. 
Bold Arcturus moved, and the fair Pleiades, 
Pegasus and the Lynx, and many more. 
Sweeping their passage o'er the blue expanse, 
Fearless of Mazzaroth, or his mighty troops. 
On — on they hastened ; and with every step, 
Some new recruit the glittering standard joined, 
And brought his brilliant forces to the field ; 
Nothing opposed ; — all in their favor seemed 
Until huge Ursa, of the frigid North, 
Standing the sturdy sentinel of the pole, 
Heard the wild rushing of the moving hosts, 
And with her arm of power arrested them, 
To learn the meaning of their mad resolve. 
She summoned Cepheus and bright Cassiope, 
And bade them call a truce, till she inquired 
The cause of all the tumult that disturbed 
The peace and quiet of the upper realm, 
And if 'twere proper for the public weal, 
To travel up and end the brilliant feud. 



316 NIGHT SCENE. 

Then called she to her aid Balernus strong, 
And princely Draco, Pavo, and the Swan, 
And Lyra, and the Phoenix, and the Crane, — 
And these, as if by one stern impulse led, 
Soon hurried to the scene, and raised their shields 
All ready for the conflict, but a sight 
That might have turned the princely twinklers pale, 
Arrested the whole mass of moving troops, 
And for a moment they forgot their fight, 
To gaze in grief upon a sadder scene. 
The lovely Andromeda they beheld, 
Chained to the rock beside the roaring waves, 
And the dread sea-king standing at her side, 
Ready to feast upon her beauteous form. 
'Twas but a moment that they had to gaze 
Upon the maiden's terror, and the joy 
That shook the red jaws of the eager fiend ; 
Perseus, her lover, from the shadows sprung; — 
The monster writhed an instant in his grasp, 
And vanquished, fell upon the sparkling sands. 

The deed was scarcely done when from the deep, 
The boundless deep of heaven — rose the moon, 
And threw her light upon the realms afar ; 
The blushing stars beheld the wide domain, 
Cut by the sturdy men of Mazzaroth 
Into twelve delightful sections, and agreed 
To shine forever round the zodiac 



I HAVE NO FATHER THERE. 



I saw a wide and well-spread board, 

And children young and fair 
Came one by one, — the eldest first, 

And took their stations there. 

All neatly clad and beautiful, 

And with familiar tread, 
They gathered round with joy to feast 

On meats and snow-white bread. 

'Twas joy to see them seated all — 
Bound by Love's tender ties, 

With health upon their blooming cheeks, 
And pleasure in their eyes. 

Beside the board, the father sate, 

A smile his features wore, 
As on the little group he gazed, 

And told their portions o'er. 

A meagre form arrayed in rags, 
Anear the threshold stood ; — 

A half-starved child had wandered there, 
To beg a little food. 
27* 



318 I HAVE NO FATHER THERE. 

Said one — "why standest here my dear, 

See there's a vacant seat 
Amid the children, — and enough 

For them and thee to eat." 

"Alas for me !" the child replied, 

In tones of deep despair, 
"No right have I amid yon group, 

I have no father there." 

O hour of fate, when from the skies, 
With notes of deepest dread, 

The far-resounding trump of God 
Shall summon forth the dead. 

What countless hosts shall stand without 
The heavenly threshold fair, 

And gazing on the blest exclaim, 
I have no father there. 



GOD. 

The light of wide immensity. — The life 
Of all that lives within its vast extent ; — 
He dwells in every drop of oceans wave's — 
In every grain of sand upon the shore, 
And boundless heaven w T ith his presence fills. 
The soul of deep infinity — is God — 
The sum and substance of eternity. 



LOV'ST THOU ME? 



When Israel's glorious throne was sold, 

And rifled by the feuds of Rome ; 
Judah's departing sceptre told — 

That Shiloh, looked for long, had come. 
Fierce Persecution madly dared 

To sweep her wing o'er all the lands, 
Which for his people, God prepared, 

When he had sundered Egypt's bands. 

Fair Salem's lovely shores were made 

A desolation wild and vast; 
Her temples all were prostrate laid, 

Her towers in splendid ruin cast. 
Apostate Jews with Romans leagued 

To slake their raging thirst in blood ; 
In impious union they agreed 

To crucify the Son of God. 

The flock that waited on his word, 
And humbly preached his holy name, 

Were smitten — scattered when their Lord 
Hung bleeding on the Cross of shame. 



320 LOV'ST THOU ME 7 

By Roman vengeance hunted, then 
They told in tears their sorrows o'er : 

One little band of fishermen 

Went weeping to the dreary shore. 

The stricken band, in seach of bread. 

Were wandering by the tranquil sea. 
When came a stranger fair, and said, 

••Look ! son of Jona, lov'si thou me .'" 
The son of Jona shook with fear, 

He saw the lovely stranger's side : 
A deep and bloody wound was there, 
' Still pouring forth the crimson tide. 

His hands and feet were bleeding too, 

His manly brow was scarred and torn ; 
The gashes seemed to say, ''for you 

A world of sorrows I have borne." 
Then Peter raised his streaming eyes. 

The anguish of his soul to tell : 
He felt the tearful torrent rise, 

And answered, "yea, I love thee well.'' 

The stranger laid his icy hand 

On the apostle's throbbing brow, 
And asked again in accents bland, 

"Say ! son of Jona, lov'st me now ?" 
The words sunk into Peter's heart 

Its fever pulses swift to move ; 
He answered as he felt them start, 

••My dearest Lord, thou know'st I love." 



LOV'ST THOU ME 1 331 

The stranger looked upon the sky. 

And looked upon the sleeping - 
And when the tear drop glazed his eye. 

Said, "sod of .Tuna, lov'at thou me '" 
Then Peter turned away to mourn : 

That third affectionate appeal 
Bedewed in bitter tears, had wurn 

To tenderness, a heart v\ BteeL 

In grief upon the earth he bowed 

His levered head and aching limb : 
The waters gushed, he wept aloud, 

That his dear Lord had doubted him. 
The grief-gush passed, and from the sod 

He rose and cried, "thou bled'st for me. 
I know thou art my Saviour God, 

I love thee, and will die for the 

They thought not that their Lord would rise, 

And one" would not believe it true, 
Until his wounds should meet his ej 

Until his lingers thrust them through. 
And when he saw the Saviour there. 

Upon whose breast he oft had lain, 
By all his bleeding wounds he sware. 

Never to disbelieve again. 

Then leagued that band of fishermen, 
With heart and brow baptized in blood: 

To make the world so lost in sin. 
A field of warfare for their God. 

•Thomas. 



322 LOV'ST THOU ME? 

They preached the kingdom of his grace, 
Begun on earth, where all prepare 

For that eternal dwelling place, 
Where kingdoms of his glory are. 

They preached that open fount, which throws 

Its widening streams, and millions may 
Plunge in the flood, so free its flows, 

And all their vileness wash away. 
Angels of mercy at the tide, 

The crystal waters wait to move ; 
And all for whom the Saviour died, 

May feel a weeping Peter's love. 

Come to the fount, ye that have tears, 

To shed upon your mounts of sin; 
Away with all your doubts, and fears ! 

The waves are ready, plunge therein. 
Come child of weeping, seek a part 

In blood so freely shed for thee ; 
For endless heaven give thy heart, 

And ask the Saviour, "Lov'st thou me?" 



NATURE'S GRATITUDE. 



Yon forest sweeping in the gale, 

So like the restless sea ; 
As now, in majesty hath swept, 

For centuries as free ; 
Its crown hath bathed most pleasantly, 

In summer wind and shower ; — 
Its giant form, the test hath stood 

Of many a stormy hour. 

And yonder mount, whose misty front, 

Above the cloud appears ; 
Enthroned in Nature's nobleness, 

Monarch of other years — 
Stands the enduring monument 

Of His unequalled skill, 
Who spake, and worlds came bounding forth. 

Obedient to his will. 

The flowery vale so calm, so clear, 

Hangs on the mountain's side, 
As though she were by nature formed, 

The towering monarch's bride ; 



324 nature's gratitude. 

Up from the forest, mount, and vale, 
Doth odored incense rise ; 

And in thanksgiving sweetly spreads, 
A tribute to the skies. 

Adown the bosom of the vale, 

Dancing in joy along, 
The sparkling waters of the stream, 

Murmur their willing song. 
With voices from the ravine wild, 

They meet in grateful praise ; 
And from the river, rock, and glen. 

Unwearied anthems raise. 

Anthems of gratitude,— they spring 

In pure unsullied love, 
From every spot of this green earth, 

To Him that rules above. 
I hear them in the morning winds, 

And in the evening breeze ; 
They stir amid the rustling grass, 

And wave the lofty trees. 

I turn upon the sea to gaze — 

The blue — the boundless sea, 
Rolling an emblem at my feet 

Of vast eternity. 
Upon her breast, in storm and calm, 

Though rival navies sweep, 
She ever lifts her grateful song 

Fervent — unchanging, — deep. 



NATURE S GRATITUDE. 325 

If on the surface of the sea, 

Zephyr or tempest wing, 
In music roll her crystal wave, 

A constant offering. 
There's not amid her jewelled depths. 

A chamber bright and fair, 
But hath its altar and its gift, 

For Him who placed it there. 

Ever, as from a thankful heart, 

Doth Nature pour her song ; 
While prouder themes of mental praise 

To man alone belong. 
And he — how backward to give forth. 

His thankfulness to God I — 
Less grateful than the flowery earth 

Which oft his feet have trod. 



HELEN. 



All eyes were fixed on Helen's fairy form. 
As through the mazes of the dance she sped 
She was the gayest of the giddy crowd, 
And all admired her light, elastic tread. 
Her nimbleness that night was all the toast, 
Her nimbleness — was all she had to boast. 
•28 



THE BATTLE. 



Behold yon banner, proudly streaming, 
Where the frowning rampart stood ; 

High the standard spear is gleaming. 
Deeply — darkly stained with blood. 

Waving in the wind victorious, 
Its folds are opening o'er the slain 

Who have fallen in battle glorious, 
And are sleeping on the plain. 

Few may boast the deed of glory, 
And the battle they have braved ; — 

Few to tell the mournful story, 

From the cannon's mouth are saved. 

Half the conquerors they number, 
With the dying and the dead ; 

On the field, in death's deep slumber, 
Low is many a hero's head. 

See ! the rampart walls are levelled, 
With the plain on which they stood ; 

And the place where warriors revelled 
Now is glistening in their blood. 



THE DOOM OF YOUTH. 

What is war but human madness ? 

Who its deeds of wo may tell ? 
It brings the gloomy wail of sadness, 

Sinks the soul to endless hell. 



327 



THE DOOM OF YOUTH. 



The wind blows free 

O'er the grassy lea ; — 
The flowers are budding fresh and fair, 

And sweetly sing 

The birds that wing 
In playful flocks upon the air, 
Light, life, and joy are mingling there;— 
Every thing 
Hails the spring, 
As she comes with breezes balmy and rare. 

The sun of youth, 

With less of truth 
Than glimmers in the light of spring, 

In brilliance rare 

Shines every where, 
And doth its richest glories fling 
O'er hearts untouched by sorrow's sting ; — 
But Death and doom 
Their night «»f gloom, 
To youth's unclouded sun may bring. 



DEATH OF PIKE. 

'Twas the close of the fight when the sad news came, 

That the warrior chief was dying ; 
His manly brow on the banners of Fame, 

All covered with glory, was lying. 

The fearless band that to battle he led, 
. Who had gazed on his greatness, admiring, 
Shed their hearts' best tears on the hallowed bed, 
Where their hero lay expiring. 

They had stood by his side on the tented field, 
With the slain all covered and gory ; 

And fought by the light of his brilliant shield 
As it mirrored an ocean of glory. 

They had seen his arm from the van to the rear, 
As it waved in the battle's commotion ; 

And the flash of his sword as it glittered there, 
Like a star in a stormy ocean. 

That sword on the side of his hammock bed,* 
All shining and sheathless was swinging, 

The broad bright blade on the hero's head 
Its sunlight of glory was flinging ; 

*He died on board the ship Pert, immediately after the taking of 
York. His death pillow was the flag of the enemy over whom he was 
so proudly victorious. 



REVENGE. 'S2U 

It flashed on his eye, as slowly it turned, 
In the farewell that doomed them to sever, 

Re-lighted a moment, it brilliantly burned, 
Then faded its fires forever. 



REVENGE 



How wretchedly doth reign 
Within the human breast, that thing — revenge — 
That hated thing, — so like the passion fierce 
That moves infernal throngs to wrathful deeds ( 
Revenge ! — foul offspring of unfathomed hell, 
That breathes amid the terrors of the pit, 
A flame so furious that the common fires 
Fade in its presence ; — messenger of ill, — 
It comes upon the fair and flowery earth, 
Stalking in desolation, and its tread 
Bruises the buds of promise; — the full boughs 
Shrivel before it, as the burning breath 
Of pestilence had passed upon their strength, 
And throw their leaves untimely to the dust. 
It breathes upon the hardened brow of guilt 
That cools its fever in the evening breeze, 
And withers it like lightning ; and the cheek 
Of love and innocence, at its approach, 
Grows pale and perishes. 
28* 



THE HEART'S CHANGES. 



"There is something mysterious in the feeling that often passes like a 
dark cloud over the spirits. With the flitting of a single thought, it 
comes over the mind, and even in the midst of the social circle over- 
shadows every sunny feeling of the heart." 

I've mingled with the mirthful throng, 
When every heart was light as air; 

I've joined the dance and joined the song, 
And felt as gay as any there. 

I've sported with the playful crowd, 
Rejoicing in their giddiest glee ; 

I've talked and laughed and sung as loud, 
As any 'mid the revelry. 

A word — a look has touched the string, 
That started thoughts of other years, 

To which the treasured memories cling, 
Still rich in pleasure, and in tears. 

The cloud upon my spirit passed, 

Its shadow o'er my heart was spread ; 

Too faithfully had memory glassed, 
The hopes with happier days that fled. 



THINK OF ME. 331 

I stood and gazed in sorrow, while 

Full rapidly the revel swept ; 
I heard the joy, and saw the smile, 

And turned in gloom away and wept. 



THINK OF ME. 



When in the crowded festal hall, 

The lovely and the loved you meet. 
And notes of pleasure softly fall 

From beauty's lips, in accents sweet, — 
When sparkling to the rim with wine, 

The golden cup is flowing, — when 
The revel's gushing joy is thine, 

And hopes on high are glowing, — then 
Lift not the cup, 
With wine filled up, 
Nor drink to me. 

But when the revel's light may fade, 

From pleasure's high and gilded throne; 
And thy bruised heart would seek some shade, 

To indulge its bitterness alone ; — 
When quickened senses steeped in grief. 
Bring up the wretched feeling, — when 
The sorrow that seeks no relief 
Upon the soul is stealing, — then 
Touch no bright cup, 
With wine filled up, 
But think of me. 



THE WINTER OF THE TOMB 

"There is no spring to the winter of the tomb." 

There is a winter cold and drear, 
That hath no sun its gloom to cheer ; — 
No ray to gild its starless night, 
Nor o'er it shed a gleam of light. 
No prospect fair — nor distant vale, 
Nor woodland wild, nor hill, nor dale ; — 
No gliding stream, nor shading trees, 
Nor zephyr mild, nor cooling breeze. — 
No gladdened life, no music sweet, 
Nor welcome voice of friend to greet ; 
No painted meads, nor roseate bowers, 
Nor velvet grass, nor blooming flowers. — 
No burst of joy can reach the shade, 
Were gloom and darkness all pervade ; 
No pleasing sound of love, nor peace, 
Can penetrate its deep recess. 
The tomb has closed o'er millions, yet 
No kindred spirits e'er have met 
Upon those dark and dreary plains, 
Where everlasting darkness reigns : 
No roses there, their fragrance shed 
Among the cold unconscious dead ; 
There is no spring with smiles and bloom 
To cheer the winter of the tomb. 



'THE SPRING BEYOND THE TOMB.' 



Darkness her ebon folds hath spread 
Around the mansions of the dead ; 
No light can radiate the gloom, 
Nor cheer the darkness of the Tomb. 

But there's a land of holy light, 
Beyond those shades of death and night. 
Where Spring abides forever clear, 
And wintry winds are strangers there. 

Immortal beauties deck those fields, 
That one continual harvest yields, 
While roses bloom on every hand, 
And beautify that heavenly land. 

From troubling there, the wicked cease, 
And wearied spirits are at peace ; 
There storms of sorrow never roll, 
To agitate the peaceful soul. 

Though death and darkness may abide, 
About the dust, the dead to hide ; 
A morning beautiful and clear 
The midnight of the tomb shall cheer. 



SERENADE. 



Awake love ! wake, — for the stars are bright, 

And the mountain winds are still, 
Awake while the spirit of the night, 
Guards the valley deep and hill : 
Silent is all, save the sound that comes, 

Like the rush of a spirit's wing, 
Audible now on the air that hums 
From every growing thing. 

Wake from thy slumbers love, 

Wake while I sing ; 
Into numbers love, 
Thy sweet voice fling. 

Our song shall sweep o'er the silence deep, 
And the strains on the aether swimming, 
Shall swell o'er the vale, o'er the hill and the dale 

Like a chorus of angels hymning. 
The forest shades, and the scented glades, 

Shall echo the notes as they pass ; 
And the sleeping hare shall spring from his lair, 
And bound through the shining grass. 
Wake from thy slumbers love, 

Wake while I sing ; 
Into the numbers love, 
Thy sweet voice fling. 



SERENADE. 335 

Awake love ! wake, — for the maiden moon, 

Is tripping above the lea ; 
Night's queen, she comes, and her light will soon 

Beam through the lattice on thee. 
The dew-drops now in her silver sheen, 

Are shining like diamonds bright ; 
They cluster thick, and the forest green, 
Seems laden with stars to-night. 

Wake from thy slumbers, love, 

Wake while I sing ; 
Into the numbers, love, 
Thy sweet voice fling, 

Away o'er the flower, o'er brake and bower, 

The music sweetly sweeping, 
Will waken the fays on the spangled braes, 

That now are so snugly sleeping. 
Awake love ! wake, ere the morning break. 

For the stars are waning fast, 
And the moom rolls on to a distant zone; 
Wake, e'er the night is past. 
Wake in thy charms, love, 

Wake while I sing, 

And into my arms, love, 

Thy sweet self fling. 



THE SEA BIRD. 



Bird of the briny deep ! 

Billow and storm, 
Up from the darkness leap- 
Wildly around thee sweep, 
Terribly raging, while fearless thy form 
Rides high on the froth of skyward sea, 
Where the winds and the waves, have revels for thee. 
Regardless of danger thou heedest not harm, 
And away o'er the white cap thou dost roam, 
Oft dipping thy beak in the pearly foam ; 

Proud bird of the sea ! 
How glorious to ride on the tempest with thee 1 

Ride on the thunder-cloud, 

Bird of the sea ; 
Sport when the stars have bowed, 
Scream, when tfye tempest loud 
Waketh its roar on the ocean and thee. 
Lay thy bold wing on the brow of the storm ! 
Sleep while the whirlwind may cradle thy form 
And riot in visions of gladness and glee ! 
Terrors that come in thy dreams upon high, 
Shall be to thy slumber a sweet lullaby ; 

Proud bird of the sea ! 
How glorious to ride on the tempest with thee 1 



YEARS PASS. 337 

Bird of the ocean waves, 
Gaze through the tide, 
Down on the coral caves, 
That the rich amber paves, 
Deep where the pearl gardens gaily abide ; 
The wild winds may sweep, the billows run high, 
And sprinkle their foam on the far distant sky: 
But peace prevails where the goldfish glide ; 
Too smooth are the depths of the ocean for thee, 
Thou lovest the roar of a storm-tost sea, 
When the lightning's fierce flame thy brow doth gird ; 
'Tis a plaything for thee, thou fearless bird ; 

Proud bird of the sea, 
How glorious to ride on the tempest with thee 1 



YEARS PASS. 



As drops a pebble in the mighty sea, 
And sinks amid the depths to rise no more, 
So drop the years into eternity, 
And Time's succeeding waters close them o'er 
Passing as carelessly — as heedless on 
As though no excellence they bore away. 
Or thing of worth had to their darkness gone : 
On — onward still unceasingly they stray, 
Regardless of the wrecks they sweep along, 
Am.1 hide forever the dark waves among. 
29 



THE MINSTREL'S LAST DIRGE. 

"He saw the skiff turn over ; — his wife and son sank into the depths, 
and the angry surges swept on as though no spirits had bubbled through 
their bosoms. Often when the storm arose, he hurried to the shore with 
the hope that the dead he so much loved might appear to him. One 
evening when the tempest was raging he rushed to the sea. 'Now,' said 
he, 'howl ye tempests ! I'll make a shroud of your winds and the dark 
wave shall be my sepulchre.' He sprung into a boat that floated by the 
shore, cut the cords and as the lightning flashed was seen for the last 
time battling with the billows." — Minstrel Sailor. 

Loud pealed the storm, the night was dark, 

Swift rolled the ocean's tide, 
When the sad minstrel launched his bark 

Upon the waters wide. 

The furious billows leapt on high, — 

Vast mountains of the sea ! — 
They dashed their summits to the sky, 

In fiercest revelry. 

Old storm-worn sailors hurried fast, 

The wished for port to gain, 
Before the all destroying blast, 

Should sink them in the main. 

They met the minstrel on the shore, 

And warned him not to dare 
The terrors they had fled before, 

So madly raging there. 



THE MINSTREL'S LAST DIRGE. 339 

Their pro tiered friendliness he spurned. 

And moeked the tempest's swell ; 
T<> weep his stubbornness they turned — 

They loved the minstrel well. 

Swift, as the furious lightning flashed, 

Into his hark he sprung ; 
And as upon the waves it dashed, 

Thus his wild dirge he sung ; — 

"I eare not fur the tempest's might, 

To meet the storm I've come ; 
I seek 'mid ocean's depths to-night 

A calm and quiet home. 

"I'll either ride the rolling deep, 

Or sink beneath its waves, 
To find the spot where others sleep, 

And clasp them in their graves. 

"They fright me nut — the tempest's ire, 

And lightning's lurid glare ; 
And should they set the sea on fire, 

The flaming surge I'd dare. 

"The tempest has no terrors now, 

I court its deafening roar ; — 
A louder, fiercer storm this brow 

Hath buileted before. 



340 the minstrel's last dirge. 

"I saw it rise upon the sea, 
My hopes were on its breast, — 

The brightest e'er life had for me, — 
With them my home was blest. 

"The waves now hold those hopes in thrall,- 
The storms have wrought me wo ; — 

My wife — my boy — I saw them fall 
The flashing seas below. 

"I heard the wild and thrilling shriek 

As high the billows leapt ; 
I thought I heard their loved lips speak 

As over them they swept. 

"Misery alas too dearly bought ! 

'Twas horror thus to part ; 
The doings of that storm have wrought, 

Their ruin on my heart. 

"O many — many moons ago, 
I would have sought their rest ; 

But ah ! I could not plunge below 
The quiet ocean's breast. 

"Full oft into the shining flood, 

I would myself have thrown ; 
But the bright heavens from where I stood, 

So beautifully shone, — 



THE MINSTREL'S LAST DIRGE. 34 1 

"And gazing on my face the while, 

From ocean's depths, far down, 
So lovely when it wore the smile, 

I could not stir its frown. 

"But often in its stormy hour, 

When terrors swept on high ; 
I've come, as now, to dare its power, 

And in its depths to die. 

"O give me back my loved ones, storm ! 

O give them back deep sea ! 
Or let this weary, grief worn form, 

A death couch find in thee. 

"Peal on ye thunders — peal on high ! 

Ye lightnings madly leap ! 
I hear the dead — their thrilling cry, 

Comes from the treach'rous deep. 



"Hail on ye loved ! I come — I come 
We'll meet where all is peace, 

And find a calm and tranquil home 
Beneath the boiling seas." 



The minstrel's hand, went o'er his harp, 
Once more its music moved 

Along the billows, shrill and sharp ; — 
He sank to meet his loved. 

29* 



JUST SEVENTEEN. 



Just seventeen ! the sunlight throws 

Its beauty on thee now ; 
And pleasures dance amid the beams, 

That burn upon thy brow. 
Bright friendships cluster in thy way, 

Like grapes upon the vine ; 
O that they ever may remain, 

And o'er thy pathway shine. 

Just seventeen ! The bow T ers are green 

That woo thee to their shades ; 
And in the distance, flowers of joy, 

Bedeck the blooming glades. 
Hope's brilliant meteor shines afar, 

And bids thee haste to share 
The glories of maturer years, 

That thy fair form may wear. 

Just seventeen ! the tempter's wiles 
Thy glowing path bestrew, 

And Fashion's false, delusive star, 
Thy happy heart may woo. 



THE JOY OF AGE. 343 

And in the gilded halls of pride, 

Lured by its treach'rous light, 
Thou'lt find too soon, in Folly's race, 

That pain succeeds delight. 

Just seventeen ! true wisdom waits. 

To place thee near her throne, 
Where gems of purest brilliancy, 

Have ever richly shone. 
Then go, and at her princely feet, 

Seek for that robe of white, 
Which wearing, thou may'st surely win 

A throne of endless light. 



THE JOY OF AGE. 

The youthful fancy feasts on hope 
The future is its heaven, 

Nor tastes it half the happiness 
Of present pleasures given. 

Age loves to dwell upon the past 
And live the seasons o'er 

Of bliss and beauty, which may be 
Realities no more. 

And if the past unspotted be — 

Untarnished by a stain, 
What joy it brings to live it o'er 

In memory again ? 



INFANT MEMORIES 



Do sister hide that lace and cape, 

Which once our mother wore, 
When in our midst and at our side ;- 

But she may wear no more. 
I see the velvet on its edge, 

The fringe, and clasp — and all 
O sister hide that cape away, 

Or fast my tears must fall. 

how it rolls stern memory back, 
To other happier days 1 — 

Our mother — she was with us then, 
And joined our childish plays. 

And there's the very place she sat, 
And here's the very chair ; 

1 sometimes think I see her now, 

And her sweet voice I hear. 

And little Horace ! how she'd smile, 
When weariness came o'er, — 

To see him sink in sweetest sleep, 
Upon the nursery floor ? 



I N 1 A NT MEMORIES 



345 



I call for him when morning comes. 

But call alas ! in vain ; 
The smiling cherub went to sleep, 

Never to wake again. 

We had not thought his little form, 

And cheek of rosy bloom, 
To hide forever from our sight, 

So early in the tomb. 
He lies upon his mother's breast, 

Nor feels the heaving breath, 
That once he felt,— both— both are still, 

Thy sleep the sleep of death. 

'Twas morn like this,— a brighter sun 

Ne'er rose, in gloom to set ; 
But ah ! the clouds of sorrow came, 

That hang around us yet. 
We wept upon their snowy cheeks— 

Their shrouds we folded o'er, 
And left them in their slumber there 

To look on them no more. 

O sister hide the cape away, 

The memories it brings, 
Are thoughts of pleasure deeply steeped 

In Sorrow's bitter springs. 
But 'tis enough that those we loved, 

The bliss of heaven may share, 
We'll love their memories while they Bleep, 

And hope to meet them there. 



CRUSH NOT THE WORM. 



"The man of sense will tread aside, 
And let the reptile live." 

Crush not the worm beneath thy careless tread, 
Nor in a wayward moment, sport with life, 
Ev'n of the meanest thing that moves on earth. 
The limbless reptile, that beneath thy feet 
Doth twist, and turn, and writhe itself along, 
Low and contemptible as it may seem, 
Has been a subject of creative power — 
And passed the hand of the Eternal God, — 
The same that formed and fashioned the vast globe, 
And hung unnumbered worlds in light on high, 
To burn like jewels round his glorious throne. 
They, with their busy millions — worms and men, 
Forever move before his watchful eye ; — 
In the minutest atom, he may find 
A home of high— of infinite extent ; 
And yet immensity's unmeasured space 
Is teeming with his presence. 

The poor worm — 
Mean and despised — low weltering in the dust, 
Lessons of wisdom true, may teach proud man — 
The vaunting rebel that hath raised his arm, 
In impious offence against his God. — 



THE WORM. 347 

'Twas he — the fiercest foe that ever warred 
With his own nature — eloquent in crime, 
That wrought the condemnation for his race; — 
Doomed his immortal soul to endless fire. 
And doomed the birds of heaven, and the beasts 
And every creeping thing upon the earth, 
To toil, and pain, and misery, and death ; — 
And the fair Earth itself — spotless and pure — 
Blooming like Eden in its pristine joy, 
Blushed in her sorrow at the dreadful deed 
That dyed her flowery surface deep in guilt. 
She bears upon her lofty mountain throne, 
And on the waves, that like a virgin's robe, 
Flowing in beauty in the freshening breeze, 
Enwrap her form, yet lovely in its fall — 
The fadeless marks of the Destroyer's touch. 
Which time nor change may ever wash away. 
But on the sinner falls the direst curse : — 
Throughout his nature runs the channel dark : 
Each boasting lineage, wears the ancestral blot. 
And higher than armorial blazonry 
Upholds the dread escutcheonry of Death. 

Crush not the worm, but turn thy foot aside, 
And gazing on the reptile, learn the truth, 
That there is but a single step between 
Thy towering pride and its degraded state; — 
That soon thy princely nature, in the dust. 
May shed the laurels of its high renown. 
And slumber in the grave beside the worm. 



THE SEA. 



"Written after a sermon by the Rev. Mr. Taylor, of Boston, in 
which he spoke of his fondness in youth for the sea. 



The sea ! the sea ! the sparkling sea ! 

Its proud, unfettered swell 
Hath always far more charms for me, 

Than wood or flowery dell. 
I've seen it like a little child, 

In its untroubled sleep ; 
I've seen the waters dark and wild 

In mountain billows sweep. 

When like a silver sheet it spread, 

In beauty unsurpassed ; — 
Calm as the heaven over head, 

Whose glories in it glassed. 
I've stood upon the vessel's prow, 

And gazed till sight grew dim ; — 
I love the recreant memories now, 

O'er thoughts dark stream that skim. 

I've sat among the shivering shrouds, 
Wet with the drenching rain ; 

While shifting folds of gloomy clouds, 
Hung darkling o'er the main. 



THE SEA. 349 

And gazed until the tempest's ire, 

In lightning furies flashed ; 
And seemed to set the waves on fire, 

That sparkled as they dashed. 

I thought as with the spars I rocked. 
Of perils yet to come ; 

how I hugged the mast, and mocked 
The tempest's thunder-drum. 

And then upon the wind's career, 

I saw the sea-bird's wing : 
And wild she screamed with joy to hear 

The storm's deep anthem ring. 

'Tis joy to sail the smooth sea's breast. 

Or rolling billows brave ; — 
'Tis joy to watch the pearly crest, 

That caps the swelling wave. — 
'Tis joy to see the lofty ship, 

Manned by her sturdy crew ; 
A thing of life so proudly skip 

Along the waters blue. 

Oh ! I had sooner mount the mast. 

Amid the tempest's roar, 
To make the trembling rigging fast. 

O CO C ' 

That sport upon the shore. 

1 vow the waves I'd rather ride, 

And breast the boldest storm. 
Than by the landsman's fireside 



Be seated snug and warm. 



30 



TO MUSE AT NIGHT 



I love at night to wander out, 

When stars are wandering on high ; 

In thousands on the azure height, 
All swimming silent through the sky. 

I love to gaze upon the orbs, 

That sail the soft cerulean steep ; — 

That crowd the blue and brilliant arch, 
And over it forever sweep. 

The stars proclaim the mighty power 
Of Him who reigns and rules above — 

Who sent them forth to hymn his praise, 
And tell us of his wond'rous love. 

In sweet companionship they move, 
Bright — burning sentinels of even ; 

And on — and on mysteriously 

They walk the circuit high of heaven. 

What lessons of enduring love, 

The sinless throngs that gem the night- 
Should teach the guilty race of men, 

That walk beneath their heavenly light. 



DEVOTION. 



u The notes of the bridal were succeeded by those of the bugle. He 
came to take leave of bis bride . 'No,' she exclaimed, 'in war or peace, 
we are one ; — together we shall live or die.' They were lovely and 
pleasant in their lives — in death they were not divided.' 9 

Horrors of War. 



"The word has passed, I must away, 
For by my hopes, I've sworn, 

Yon proudly flaunting flag this day, 
Shall from its height be torn. 

I'll dare the battle's thunder stroke — 
Its dark and thrcat'ning cloud, 

To gain it for my martial cloak, 
Or wear it as my shroud. 

Away my love, — detain me not, 

The hours arc hastening by ; 
A soldier fears his lame to blot, 

More than he fears to die, 

Nor home — nor wife his heart may chain, 
When foes his laud invade: — 

His home is on the gory plain — 
His bride the shining blade. 



352 DEVOTION. 

Now leave me, 'tis my country's call, 

One kiss ; — I must away ; 
Though on the bloody field I fall, 

The call I must obey." 

"Leave thee ! and have I pledged my faith- 

My hopes to thee in vain ? 
And may I not in life and death, 

Thine own as now remain ? 

If thou art on the field of war, 
Wrapped in its reddening flame, 

Why may I not the danger share, 
To share with thee its fame ? 

I have no fainting heart to fear, 

The dangers of the fight ; 
It is enough that thou art near — 

That 1 am in thy sight. 

Woman's is not the shrinking soul, 
When danger comes, to hide ; 

And though the war storms fiercely roll, 
Their wrath she may abide." 

"Then to the field — there heart to heart, 

The dangers we'll defy ; 
Pledged by our love no more to part — 

As one we'll live or die." 



EMMA 



Emma thou art young, — thy bright morning sun, 

Is rising in its beauty ; and the rays 

Thrown from its depths, as from an urn of fire, 

Are richly clustering round thee; how thy path 

Doth glitter in the gay and golden sheen 

O'er mount and blooming vale before thee shed ? 

And how the glories of maturer years, 

Seem to await thy light, and bounding tread ? 

A coronal more rare than gems or gold — 

Of living excellence they've made for thee, 

Wreathed in the blaze of Mind's enduring heaven, 

With stars of never fading lustre blent, 

And wearing as a circlet the stern bands 

Of virtue — firm, inflexible and pure ; 

And thou may'st win and wear it in its pride. 

Emma, thou art lovely — the summer hues, 
Are glowing in their lustre and their love 
On thy glad countenance, so rich in smiles ; 
Thou art the flower that the healthful spring 
Hath strengthened into beauty as it passed. 
And the fair dyes that paint thy lovely cheeks 
Are less in value to thee, than the stores 
30* 



354 EMMA. 

Thy mind hath gathered, and may gather yet, 

Ere the more brilliant lights of womanhood, 

May flash their splendours on thy snowy brow. 

And there are mental treasures which the world 

Knoweth not of; — nor may the giddy throngs, 

That sport like butterflies among the flowers, 

Sipping the sweets of pleasure, and that sweep 

On with the floods of fashion, ever find 

The hidden mine whence those rare treasures spring; 

Would'st know where thou may'st find it and enjoy 

Riches exhaustless as the mind itself? 

Take up thy blessed Bible, and turn o'er, 

Page after page, its consecrated leaves, 

And ponder well the purposes of Him, 

Who made the mind — noblest of all his works, 

To contemplate his character, and live 

With him forever in a higher state ; 

And as the sheets, thy fingers may unfold, 

May the Eternal God unfold to thee, 

The treasures of his own immortal truth. 

Emma, the sun must set, — the summer sun, 
That gilds thy pathway with its glory now, 
Must fade forever from thy changing sky ; 
Life has its autumn, and its winter too, 
And thou must journey on to womanhood 
And thence to age ; the glories now in view, — 
That wait to crown thee in their burning light, 
Thou soon wilt leave behind thee, and wilt look 
Back as through a vista, where the stars are dim, 
And faded flowers lie, — stars that were hopes, 



EMMA. 355 

And flowers that lent them beauty, — all must fade, — 
All perish in the ruthless grasp of Death. 

Emma, thou must die, — as the blossoms fall, 
That spring and summer warmed to life and love, 
So we must fall and mingle as do they 
With decomposing nature ; ah, the grave ! 
To think of its deep slumber, and the dust, 
To which our bodies crumble ! — all is dark 
Within its dreary bosom, — vet we must — 
All that is mortal of us — haste away, 
And hide forever in its depths of gloom. 

Emma, thou art immortal, — not the grave, 

Nor death, may ever rob thee of the germ, 

Of life eternal that thy nature bears ; 

And when the cold humanity doth sleep 

Silent in its sepulchre, and the worm, 

Amid its gloom is feasting on the form, 

The spirit in its majesty shall soar — 

if purified by the redeeming blood, 

Of Him who died a ransom for its sin, — 

To worlds of endless beauty where the sun 

Shall never set, — nor spring, nor summer fade. 

Fair Emma, fix thy youthful heart on heaven, 
Then let the winds and waves of life, be rough 
Or smooth, thou hast an anchor firm anil sure 
Fast by the throne of God— and a bright hope 
That into full fruition shall expand, 
And bloom forever in a better clime. 



THE SEA OF SORROW. 



Roll on dark waters of a gloomy sea ! 

Roll on in terror, and array thy might ! 
The heart's best hopes are wrecks that roll with thee, 

Plunging forever 'mid thy dismal night. 
Thy waves for centuries have swept each other o'er, 

As though they sought to spend themselves upon 
a shore. 

And vain the effort, for thy waves are doomed 
To roll upon each other ; they but sweep 

Their own eternity ; and all entombed, 
And yet thyself a sepulchre, they keep 

Perpetually in motion, and each mountain swell, 
Of something that was joy, is but the dreary knell. 

We cannot stay thee, though upon thy breast, 
There's many a thing of beauty and renown, 

And many a heart that thou hast robbed of rest, 
Yet lovely in their ruin — passing down, 

Struggling with thy o'erwhelming billows as they 
dash, 
All bruised and bleeding under their unceasing lash. 



THE SEA OF SORROW. 357 

Ten thousand tributaries, ever bear. 

Their freight of tears to thy resistless tide; 

And yet ten thousand more might empty there, 
So vast the depths thy restless waters hide. 

Should worlds of treasure into thy broad bosom fall, 
The fathomless abyss would soon cngulph them 
all. 

Thou hast thy channels from each earthly home, 
Cottage and palace are alike to thee: 

The humble hut, and high and costly dome, 
And all between, may fill them up as free. 

The crimson couch, on which the brow in jewels 
grieves, 
May be as rich in tears as menials' bed of leaves 

The peasant suffers and the lordling weeps, 
Want has its bitterness and wealth its thorns ; 

And Pleasure's smiling self, sad reckoning keeps, 
( tf gloomy hours, that her light laughter scorns. 

The pealing revel of the giddy — thoughtless crowd, 
Claims but the precedence of wailing quite as loud. 

Kings have their tears, and beggars feel remorse. 

Condition cannot shelter; — sword nor crown. 
Turns nor evades the tide, it runs its course, 

Regardless whom or what it carries down. 
Roll on ! — o'er sinning spheres thy billows may be 
hurled 

But may not touch the threshold of the better world. 



GIRLHOOD. 



Thine is the thoughtless laugh, fair girl, 

And the glance of the dark blue eye ; — 
Thy step is light through Pleasure's whirl, 

And thy glittering hopes are high. 
Thy star of happiness riseth now 

Like a sun o'er the upper sea ; 
Its beams are shed on thy snowy brow, — 

It shineth in beauty for thee. 
Thy heart is as light as the young gazelle's 

That playfully boundeth along ; 
Its tale of joy, thy countenance tells, 

And there's melody in thy song. 

The flowers upon thy cheek, fair girl, 

Wear the bloom of the sunny Spring ; 
Thy hands are white as the whitest pearl, 

That the shells of the sea can bring. 
Thy lips are red as the budding rose, 

And there's witchery in their smile ; — 
On idle words may they never close, 

Nor a sentiment speak of guile. 
O ever as light be the step of thy youth, 

And the star of thy hope as high ; 
Go gather on earth bright garlands of truth, 

And wing o'er their bloom through the sky. 



SILENT WE GAZED 



Si i.i.n i we gazed on the midnight sky, 
And sad was the spell that bound us ; 

While the moon, threw down from the archonhigh 
The beams of her beauty around us. 

Scenes of the past, though faded, yet fair, 
From the vale of shadows came stealing ; 

They told us of love and loveliness there, 
The gloom of the grave was concealing. 

We thought of the dead, that passed away, 
From the world of wo and weeping; — 

Of the loved and lost in the dust that lay 
On the earth's cold bosom sleeping. 

Twas gloomy to think of glories gone, 
Of friendships bound but to sever ; — 

Of the laughing throngs that in youth had down 
From us and from earth forever. 

Then we thought of the dearest of all, 

And sorrow our spirits clouded : 
We wept, as we had wept over his pall, 

When his form for the grave we shrouded. 



360 SILENT WE GAZED. 

Few were the words we exchanged that hour, 
'Twas not the season for speaking ; 

Meekly we bowed to the gloom spirit's power, 
For in wo our hearts were reeking. 

We spoke of Death and the dread command, 
That so soon our forms convulses ; 

We trembled to think that the monster's hand 
Would still our own fluttering pulses. 

It is sad to think, — painful to tell, 
How we promised that evergreen bowers, 

O'er the lone grave of the first that fell, 
Should bloom 'neath its burthen of flowers. 

'Tis done, and on the loved spot where he lies, 
The evergreen bower is growing ; 

We met — we parted, beneath the bright skies, 
Which now o'er that bower are glowing. 



*6 SQ f 





















^ 






1 1 A c 













/ 




























wr> 







